


Why pretend?

by codenamepenguin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxious John, Bossy Sherlock Holmes, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, M/M, Misunderstandings, Out of London, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Slow Burn, Vacation, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 51,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamepenguin/pseuds/codenamepenguin
Summary: John has a secret that's tearing him apart. Turns out that Sherlock has a secret too.





	1. The way you love me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place a few weeks after Baskerville.

It was dusk when Sherlock finally drove up the leaf littered driveway.

In the hours in between while he waited, John had plenty time to think about the conversation at breakfast.

'Henry Knight, needs someone to mansion sit,' Sherlock had blurted out as he walked out of his room with his lap top bag slung over one shoulder and his suitcase wheeling behind him, 'I fancy I will take a holiday at the same time. Quite overdue, don't you think?'

By the time John could recover himself, the detective was already gone. Of course, nothing in itself was wrong with Sherlock wanting a holiday but the abruptness of it all, on the heels of his withdrawn behaviour of late, had thrown the doctor into a panic.

An hour later, after John had checked in with all his 'sources' to ensure that there was no reasonable explanation for this behaviour, he was in the air courtesy 'Mycroft' airlines.

'Hello?!' Sherlock called out sharply, bringing the other man back to the present moment, 'who's that in the shadows? Step out and be quick about it!'

'Mycroft organised a helicopter lift,' John replied feebly in response to the detective's stunned look of amazement.

They stared at each quietly, the tension of the last couple of weeks rippling in the air between them.

'Can't a man take a holiday without so much suspicion being excited?' the detective replied wearily. 'I trust you didn't fly out here just to pick another fight. I am a little tired right now.'

Just then, the fading light of the sunset caught Sherlock's face at the perfect angle and John gasped sharply at the man's blood shot eyes. His flatmate looked haggard and defeated.

'No, of course not,' the doctor said hastily, too shocked by the man's appearance to even realise what he was saying, 'Sherlock, what's wrong? Please tell me. Please.'

The detective looked at him almost despairingly for a long moment, before he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, as if it didn't really matter anymore. Without warning, Sherlock extended his hand and with one finger, traced a path gently down the side of the doctor's face.

'Why did you do that?' John managed to gasp out in a mortifying high pitched squeak as he jumped back, painfully colliding with the car door of Sherlock's rented vehicle.

'Because I know,' Sherlock replied solemnly, 'I know why you are so angry all the time.'

What?

No…no…no.

This wasn't happening.

'I know you don't want to feel this way about me and it's killing you slowly and I don't know what to do to help you,' Sherlock continued quickly, taking advantage of his flatmate's shock, 'Don't you see what's happening here?! If you continue to hide from this, in the end you will pack your things and leave, and not even understand why. I don't want that. I don't want you to go. John, it really doesn't matter to me if I am your friend, brother or your lover. These labels mean nothing to me…nothing! You know I am speaking the truth, because you know me.'

This entire speech was delivered to John's bent head but the lack of vociferous, obscene objections gave Sherlock hope.

The detective reached out a comforting hand to grasp the man's shoulder, 'This could just be a passing physical infatuation, John. And even if it isn't, we can work through it. There was really no need for you to tear yourself apart all these months, and shoulder all of this on your own. As I said before, you are my friend, my only friend and I am so very glad that you are here. Let me help you.'

'Are you sure you don't mind?' John whispered almost desperately.

Instead of looking at his face, the doctor concentrated with all of his might on Sherlock's coat buttons.

Time seemed to stand still for him as he waited for the proverbial axe to fall, and destroy everything that was good in his life. Only now, when it was too late to do anything about it, did John really understand how much he cared for the man before him.

Finally, the detective took a slow step toward him, and bent over to softly press his lips against the doctor's cheek.

John was grateful that the car was behind his back giving him support, because it felt as though he was on the verge of collapse. As he closed his eyes tight to hold on to the sensations for as long as he could, John felt the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. No cooked up smutty fantasy, he had ever dreamed about late at night when he was alone in his cold, lonely bed, could even compare to how he felt now. He was completely overwhelmed by the tenderness of Sherlock's touch.

'I have never minded the way you choose to love me, John,' Sherlock whispered in his ear.

TBC?


	2. To be happy again

John turned red when he realised that not only had he lost track of time, but that Sherlock had been gently holding him upright, while he swayed on his feet like a love sick teenager.

He was too mortified to even ask how long they had been standing there, in the dark.

'There is no need to be embarrassed,' the detective murmured as John tried to avoid his eyes, 'Does it help if I tell you that I am flattered that you find my physical transport so appealing?'

John shook his head, trying to pull away from the man's arms and scramble back to some sort of mental reality. Was Sherlock really offering to be his lover, just so that he would be happy again? Who in their right mind does that? This was insane. Besides which he wasn't gay, he was…dear God…now he understood why people said they are confused.

In the meantime, the detective scowled in displeasure as John pushed against his chest; silently asking to be released.

'Oh, I understand,' Sherlock hissed, 'You wish to go back to denying everything. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.'

The doctor stiffened in delighted horror, as the detective unexpectedly reached out and threaded his strong fingers through his hair; gently angling his head to the side, before pressing his lips firmly against his neck.

'Can you deny how this makes you feel?' Sherlock whispered fiercely along John's suddenly, super sensitive skin. 'Tell me that you don't like it. Tell me!'

John closed his eyes and fought not to groan out loud as the combination of Sherlock's frustrated anger and his touch, lanced through his body like a fiery whip; making his blood boil. He threw out his hands trying to maintain his balance, but of course the only thing left to hold on to in a world that was rapidly spinning out of control was Sherlock's coat.

'Don't,' John managed to strangle out, but if his flatmate heard him, he was ignoring it.

Instead, Sherlock slowly bent him over the side of the car while continuing his blistering assault along the column of his throat. The poor doctor couldn't help but whimper with pleasure as he gave himself over to the pure primal sensations of the man's kiss. However, when the detective decided to use his tongue to lick his neck in one long leisurely stroke, John flinched so badly that he accidentally knocked the man into a nearby hedge.

By the time the tall man extracted himself, with some muttered curses directed towards the thorny branches, the doctor had walked off and seated himself on the porch swing.

From across the driveway, Sherlock cautiously observed the doctor's defensive posture and with an anxious cough, he cleared his throat.

'Look, I could have tried to make that point in a different way,' the detective said in a low voice of apology, 'I just didn't want you to go back to pretending and denying what you feel. I hope you know…..I hope you know that I wasn't trying to force myself on you.'

John's relaxed his tense shoulders, so thrilled that Sherlock appeared to still be his friend despite this whole mess, that he felt as though he was floating, 'don't be ridiculous Sherlock. That last part never crossed my mind. The tongue bit just startled me, that's all.'

_That, and the fact that I have a massive hard on; compliments on your exquisite kissing technique by the way._

'Good,' Sherlock replied in a relieved voice, 'Thank you. I came up here to Baskerville, just so that we could take a break from all the fighting. I couldn't sit there in the flat and watch you be so miserable. You following me out here, is our best chance to resolve to this situation. I would say it was fate, if I believed in such nonsense.'

John tucked his hands tightly around his body, hoping the other man wouldn't notice how they were shaking. He wanted to kiss Sherlock on the mouth so badly at this point; it would have been far easier to stop breathing.

Unaware of these lustful thoughts, the taller man ducked his head into the cab and wrestled his suitcases out of the car and up to the door of Henry's mansion, 'I am going to have a wash up.'

'I'll be out here. I could use a moment to myself,' John murmured breathlessly, glad for a little respite.

The detective opened his mouth as if to say something but changed his mind at the last second. John then looked on in surprise, as his flat mate stalked back to the car, opened the bonnet and removed the distributor cap, which he then slipped into his pocket.

'Don't give me that look,' Sherlock snapped, showing some of his characteristic fire that had been sadly diminished for the past few weeks, 'you know you were thinking it.'

John smiled faintly in amusement. Leaving before he did something really stupid had crossed the doctor's mind, but he had no idea how to hot wire a car, which Sherlock apparently suspected he was thinking of doing, the minute his back was turned.

Resembling his more familiar moody persona, Sherlock stalked through the door carrying his luggage, 'We faced down Chinese assassins, murdering cabbies, bomb wielding psychopaths, and the hound from hell together. This will be no different. Pull yourself together man!'

John sighed as the current man of his dreams vanished through the door; wishing he felt as confident as Sherlock sounded.


	3. No one else in the world

Like a good doctor and as the assistant to a world famous detective, John approached most of his problems methodically.

So, what were the facts so far?

One, Sherlock Holmes was his best friend.

Two, he was physically attracted to his best friend.

Three, the best friend knew he was 'in lust' with him.

Four, the best friend apparently didn't care two straws that he felt that way.

Five, the best friend had volunteered to participate in a week of 'helping' John with his sexual dilemma.

Six, the best friend was an idiot.

No, he wasn't an idiot. John knew that. Sherlock's brain just didn't function in a way that understood labels like wife, lover, gay or straight. Such social distinctions ranked very low on his list of things that should be in his hard drive.

 _'_ Why is it so important for people to know if I am gay or not?' Sherlock had asked him once in a bewildered voice as they enjoyed a quiet night in at home, 'Stupid really, human sexuality is not a bloody light switch but a whole spectrum. Maybe if you explain to me why you care so much if people think that you are gay, I might understand. _'_

The doctor smiled as he remembered the conversation, before covering his face with his shaking hands. Sherlock was offering; it wasn't like he was taking advantage of the detective's unique views about love and sexuality, was it?

Maybe he couldn't think clearly right now, not so soon after Sherlock had almost given him a heart attack with the devastating assault on his senses. Even now he could still feel the heat of Sherlock's breath on his skin. For someone who was married to his work, Sherlock was amazingly adept at seduction.

'Dr. Watson?' came a tentative voice from his left.

John raised his head quickly and smiled in welcome at the two hotel owners from the village. These familiar faces from their last adventure were a wonderful surprise. 'Oh hullo there. Gary and Billy right?'

The couple however didn't smile back.

'Everything alright?' Gary asked sternly, 'we saw you from the path. That looks like quite an argument you were having. Where is Mr. Sherlock?'

_What? Good Gad, did they think…?_

'Sherlock!' the doctor called out hastily to the upstairs floor, 'we have some visitors, put your head out.'

After a moment, the curly haired man looked out the window and waved down to their guests.

'Are you alright sir?' Gary inquired in concerned, 'we saw you two fighting.'

'You should have seen us a week ago,' Sherlock remarked conversationally, 'Now that was a spectacle. I think everyone in London heard us.'

'Sherlock, no!' John hissed in embarrassment, as the two hoteliers looked at him in disgust, 'they don't need to know that. Just explain to them that I didn't deliberately push you to the ground just now.'

'Oh…that was an accident,' Sherlock immediately agreed, much to the doctor's relief, 'I shouldn't have used my tongue.'

John groaned softly while their visitors exchanged knowning grins.

'It happens,' Gary agreed, 'I wake up with a shout in the middle of the night, because this one is hugging all the air out my body.'

Little Billy sniffed, 'better to be an octopus, than a snorer.'

The conversation turned and while Gary and Sherlock chatted about the logistics of how Henry's mansion and large estate would be managed by the villagers during their stay, Billy walked over to where John stood, and offered the dinner they had brought.

John took the covered tray of food, nodding his thanks for their hospitality.

'Mr. Knight called and instructed us to take care of Mr. Sherlock,' the small man explained, 'Sorry we only brought a single plate. I told Gary we should bring two because I knew you would come down. Even if we were fighting, I wouldn't let my Gary go haring across the country and not at least check to make sure he's alright. I picked out the nicest guest room for you both. It has the most wonderful view of the moor. Clean towels are already in the bath and Gary stocked up the fireplace with plenty wood. If you're still hungry, there are some breakfast things to make an omelette in the fridge. We'll come tomorrow with more food.'

The kindly inn keeper peered into his face with a look of concern when John didn't answer. 'Are you okay? You can come down and stay with us, if you don't think you can manage on your own with your boyfriend tonight.'

'It's fine,' John reassured the other man with a gentle smile, 'I just never realised until today that even though Sherlock drives me crazy, I don't think anyone else in the world could be a better friend to me.'

Billy reached out and gave him a friendly one handed hug, 'I know exactly what you mean.'


	4. Someone special

'Sherlock, can you come down? Let's eat this while it's still hot,' John called up the staircase.

The doctor bustled around Henry's designer kitchen, looking for plates and cutlery, as the detective noiselessly descended in sock clad feet. All the while John kept his eyes averted, feeling at a loss for what to say next and clearly Sherlock did too, as the other man sat up at the breakfast bar without saying a word.

As was his habit, the small man unconsciously shared out the food; heaping all of Sherlock's favourites on to a clean plate and keeping all the stuff he didn't like back on his.

'You usually require more to eat,' the detective remarked knowingly, pointing to the meager amount on his flat mate's plate.

'Not hungry,' John mumbled distractedly with a little sigh, which of course made Sherlock scowl at the bowed head front of him. He was irritated that his best friend had so easily slipped back into his former mood of worry and frustration. They were a couple now! Everything would be just fine!

'Would you like to hold my hand?' the detective asked quite calmly, as if he was asking him to do nothing more than pass the salt.

The doctor jumped, almost dropping his plate. Flustered, he drew in a shaky breath and stared as Sherlock laid his open hand, palm up on the table for him to take.

Of course he accepted, after a moment of dithering like an idiot, and as Sherlock gently caressed his fingers with his thumb, the doctor concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths.

John couldn't believe he was here, with Sherlock, alone in this beautiful house holding his hand. The thought had never crossed his mind that he would ever get the opportunity to do something so wonderful. If he just closed his eyes now, it would be so easy to imagine that they had actually planned a romantic holiday in the country, weeks in advance.

'Would you like to sit in my lap?' the tall man then suggested.

John dropped his fork on the tiled floor.

'Sherlock, what you are doing?!' the doctor barked in surprise, as his heart hammered a bit uncomfortably in his chest.

'It's a yes or no question, John,' he remarked in his usual impassive manner.

The doctor huffed nervously as he reached for clean cutlery, 'no…not right now. But thanks for the offer.'

'Nothing has changed about me, John,' Sherlock warned him with a stern look, 'if you want me to do something, you should just ask. I don't do subtlety at all, as you very well know. Don't say no when you mean yes. John, would you like to sit in my lap?

'No…not right now,' the small man repeated in a more firm tone but with a rueful laugh. Sherlock always did the unexpected, so why would he be any different now? 'I am alright with just holding your hand.'

Sherlock look unbelieving, but dropped the question as John regarded him with a stubborn, fond expression.

'Earlier by the car when I sucked your neck, was that okay? Did I do it right?' the detective leaned forward and asked with a curious expression, 'On reflection John, I don't know why you are so interested in me of all people. I don't have a lot of experience, as you also very well know. I will try my very best but I don't think you would really enjoy me at all.'

Enjoy me?!

A delicious picture of a naked Sherlock lying along the breakfast bar suddenly popped into John's head, and he struggled to keep a straight face.

'I won't be disappointed. You are a great kisser,' the small man reassured him, as he felt his face turn hot.

Sherlock frowned, 'Thank you, but now you are distressed. Did I say something wrong?'

'I am not distressed. I am happy; overwhelming so, but it's not the type of happy where you smile,' John replied as he gently turned over his hand and threaded his fingers more securely together with Sherlock's, 'I could never have anticipated how unbelievably supportive you are being.'

Sherlock raised a scornful eyebrow, 'please John, I think you are letting your imagination run away with you. Don't confuse all of this with a rush of sentiment, which I am incapable of. I am interesting in maintaining our good relationship. It is very important to me. I would do anything to make sure it continues to function at peak efficiency but I am not about to go to the shop and purchase you flowers. '

John smiled gently at the peculiar way Sherlock talked about their friendship. He couldn't deny he felt a little disappointed inside though, by the man's cold analytical words, but this was Sherlock. If he really loved the detective, he wouldn't wish him to be what he wasn't. In the big picture, Sherlock cared if he was happy or not, and that was enough. It was more than some people had.

'Yeah…our relationship is important to me too,' the doctor remarked softly, 'but Sherl, you don't have to do this, just because I want it. We don't have to…you know, sleep together or anything. If you could just let me hold you and kiss you ever so often, I would consider myself quite fortunate. I'm not greedy.'

The detective shook his head at him in exasperation, 'I have no problem being your lover. Why would I? You are my best friend. Except for when you have me drug tested every month, I enjoy your companionship at all times and in all situations, I am sure this will be no different. YOU are over thinking the matter entirely.'

John was equal parts pleased and flabbergasted by this little speech. In between insulting him and treating him like a servant, it would be nice if Sherlock said such loving words like this out loud more often.

'When did you know?' the doctor asked in a eager whisper, wishing to prolong this new found mental intimacy for as long as he could. Sherlock didn't normally comment on 'dull matters' like his feelings very often.

'I always knew you found me attractive,' Sherlock replied carelessly as he swallowed his latest mouthful of salad, 'and who can blame you? I am a handsome devil.'

This supreme smugness on the other man's face made John groan and then snort with laughter.

'But I think you only became aware of how strong your attraction really was, after we met Adler,' Sherlock accurately speculated.

Startled, John tried to take his hand back, but of course Sherlock wouldn't let him.

'John?'

'I DON'T want to talk about her alright!' the doctor shouted unreasonably, 'just change the subject!'

Confused, Sherlock looked on miserably as John began playing with his food, until the doctor gave up and pushed the plate to one side. Immediately, Sherlock put down his fork too.

'Did you sleep with her?' the doctor asked tersely, propping up his forehead in one hand as he minutely studied the brillant white counter top.

'What?'

'Did you have intercourse with ....'

'I know what you meant!' Sherlock snapped back, his natural temper rising to match his flatmate's aggressive tone, 'John…I don't see…'

'It's a yes or no question!'

'No I didn't. I have never slept with anyone.'

'What? Are you for real?' John blurted out rudely before he could stop himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he picked up his fork and speared the mushrooms on his plate, his appetite seemingly unaffected by the discussion, 'Is this the part where you construct some sort of amusing insult about my lack of sexual experience?'

'Of course not,' the small man said automatically; squeezing their joined hands attempting to convey his love and support.

'Oh…well, that will be a first. Thank you' Sherlock replied, attempting to hide how relieved he was by this response, although he knew he shouldn't be surprised. John was the most compassionate of persons. Even though he ignored it, it still had hurt Sherlock when people casually sneered and sometimes laughed out loud that a thirty year old man hadn't found something more interesting to do with his cock besides aim it at the toilet. John's scorn or laughter would have eviscerated him.

It took a while, but after John had gotten over his initial astonishment at Sherlock's confession, he found his voice again, 'Blimey Sherlock, I thought Mycroft was taking the piss out of you.'

'He wasn't,' Sherlock growled, annoyed anew at his brother's mental machinations to control him, 'Why? For goodness sake, I am no blushing, trembling sixteen year old student! Surely my virginity isn't a problem for you?'

'Yes! I mean, no,' the other man spluttered, '...I don't know. Christ, if it hadn't come up in the conversation, were you going to tell me that you hadn't slept with anyone before?'

'Sorry, I don't see the relevance,' he remarked in confusion.'

John gawked at him in anguish, 'Don't you want to save your virginity for someone special? Someone you love? I think you should!'

It was Sherlock who now looked over with an entirely surprised expression on his face, 'Good Gad, man. You truly don't see yourself clearly at all.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who has commented, sent kudos or bookmarked my story. However, I feel I should say that this work should't be taken too seriously. There is no big plot, just laughs, friendship and eventual sexytimes. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading my story!


	5. Do you like what you see?

The moment John stepped out of the shower, he realized he had a slight problem.

'SHERLOCK!' he cried, 'come up here and lend me some of your clothes.'

'You don't have to shout,' his flatmate informed him, 'I am right out here in the bedroom. Do utilise my dressing gown behind the door.'

John looked and sure enough Sherlock's navy blue dressing gown was hanging there. He hesitated for a moment before his practical side took over. He hadn't bought a change of clothes with him and this was most likely the only thing that his friend had that was adjustable.

The doctor sighed deeply as he stepped out of the bathroom, which adjoined the luxurious suite that comprised one of Henry's guest rooms. Given the current circumstances, being naked underneath Sherlock's soft dressing gown was not helping him feel anymore in control of situation, but just then he caught sight of his friend, and he smiled to himself.

Most times Sherlock was all dark, mysterious and masterful as he strode around London in his high collar coat, arrogantly pushing his aristocratic nose in everyone's business and aggravating the bejeezus out of everyone in the process. But there were times like now, when his mate was slouched against a stack of pillows in his faded sweats, with an arm thrown causally under his head reading his Kindle, when he looked like the type of man to actually own a pair of ratty trainers, and would willingly jog two miles with him before heading to the nearest bakery to get a powdered sugar donut.

'Do you like what you see?' Sherlock asked in his quiet baritone voice, in a way that could only be described as a smug purr.

John rolled his eyes with a grin as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, 'you know that I do, cheeky bastard.'

Sherlock looked up and gave him an exaggerated wink, causing John to snort with laughter. What the hell? Was Sherlock trying to flirt with him? He fell abruptly silent though when the detective held out his hand for him to take.

John stared at him. Sherlock stared right back.

'You won't like it if I have to come over there and get you,' Sherlock warned him in another baritone rumble that only served to raise all the hairs on the back of his arm.

'Oh really?' John remarked in amusement even as he tamped down on this fresh wave of arousal. If he hadn't been looking out for it, he might have missed Sherlock's nervous swallow.

_Right._

_A virgin._

_How the hell does something like that happen? He's intelligent, passionate, funny and so gorgeous. He could pull anyone he wanted, male or female. Anyone!_

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously at his flatmate's continued hesitance.

_He's not as cool about all of this as he's pretending to be. I need to slow him down a bit._

'For God's sake John it's just me, not the bogeyman! Get over here!' Sherlock shouted right on cue, the way he normally did when he wasn't getting his way, 'Take deep breaths. It will help.'

'First off, Sherlock,' the doctor replied calmly, raising one finger to make his point, 'It's not a race, we can take our time and talk this through. We  _need_  to take our time and talk this through...'

Sherlock groaned and dramatically squashed a pillow over his face, 'Urgh....Talking! Talking is BORING!'

'...and secondly,' John continued with practiced ease, 'I am not afraid of you or of us, I want you to get that idea out of your head. Anxious maybe to be testing the boundaries of my sexuality, but not afraid'

'Then what is it?' Sherlock ranted at him, flinging the pillow across the room, 'oh look, we're fighting again. Fan-frigging-tastic!'

The doctor shook his head at these antics as he went to collect the abused pillow, ' We are not fighting. Sherlock, there's a lot at stake at here, you must see that; our friendship, our professional relationship...our living arrangements. You know you can't afford the flat if I move out, right? Have you thought about all of that? Some caution would not be amiss.

He gently rested the pillow on the bed where the detective was lying spreadeagled, staring at the ceiling, and a long silence fell between them.

'Are you having second thoughts then?' Sherlock frowned.

John scrubbed his face with one hand, 'It's too late for second thoughts, I think. You were right, I can't keep going on like this. If you are still willing to explore a more intimate relationship, I will take it.'

Eventually Sherlock sat up and held out his hand again, this time with a more sober expression, 'I know there is a lot at stake, but we're not going to solve anything with you standing over there. Let's just share the bed, we don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want.'

Actually, he did want. He wanted bad. That's the reason he was in this situation after all.

_Oh shut up hormones! Get a grip! We are not jumping our best friend._

With another deep breath, John crossed the space and took the offered hand. Sherlock was already on the right, so he took the left side of the bed. Quietly they arranged the pillows and blankets for sleeping.

'Wow! This mattress is amazing,' John breathed as he rolled on his back, luxuriating on the surface that was the perfect temperature and firmness.

'It's adjustable,' Sherlock revealed as he pointed the remote at him, 'I already set your side of the bed.'

'You did?!' John blurted out incredously, 'how did you know what...'

He broke off as Sherlock graced him with a look of supreme disbelief. After all these months, John supposed he should be over his friend extraordinary talent for observation.

'Do you need water?' Sherlock then asked with surprising gentleness, holding out a tumbler of the clear liquid.

His flatmate smiled, and took the proffered glass, setting it down on the night stand. He could get use to this special treatment! It was nice to be looked after for a change. Doctors needed love too, you know.

The detective turned to switch off his Kindle and the table lamp, 'You were quite a long time in the bathroom. You weren't masturbating, were you?'

_Christ! Anyone would think that I was the virgin and not Sherlock._

'No I wasn't masturbating,' John replied in a strangled voice, marveling at how clincal the detective could sound talking about this. Was it some sort of coping mechanism or was this the way Sherlock felt about sex in general?

'But you were thinking about it?' he asked as he lay on his side, and tucked a hand under one angular cheek.

'Well…yes,' John admitted, turning his head to look into the pair of blue grey eyes that danced with the light from the fancy fireplace, 'Take the edge off, I suppose.'

The detective scowled fiercely.

'Didn't we talk about this? If you want to get off, you can ask me now,' Sherlock berated him sternly, 'we just have to find a moment for you to show me once how you like it done. Are you aroused now?'

'Do you masturbate?' John asked curiously, ignoring the provocative bit on the end in favour of interesting information.

'Yes.'

_Holy cow!_

'Do you think about anyone while you're doing it?' the doctor blurted out, before he could realise what he was saying.

_Why did I ask that? Shit! Do I really want to know this?_

Sherlock's forehead wrinkled in confusion, 'No one in particular. Why?'

Eager for more information about his secretive friend, John rolled on his side so that he was facing the man. 'So… why do you masturbate?'

_Why can't I stop talking?!_

Fortunately Sherlock didn't seem to mind, and he shrugged his slim shoulders, 'I ...I dont do so often, usually though when I need a distraction and if I can get my mind to slow down enough, the release can be quite pleasant.'

John gave him a big stupid grin, relieved to hear that his friend enjoyed these things. Sometimes you had to wonder with all these rumours flying around, about Sherlock being asexual or frigid.

The doctor was so happy right now, he felt as though he was floating. This is what he wanted to hear. He was thrilled that there maybe some chance that Sherlock would enjoy being with him too. He knew he was frumpy and ordinary compared to his friend, but that would make no difference in the dark! He would just switch the lights off or something like that.

'Is there anything else on your mind tonight, John?' the other man asked with an indulgent smile, knowing full well the doctor wasn't usually this chatty at this hour of the night.

_Only one of a thousand different things._

'Yes…' he agreed immediately, begging Sherlock with his eyes to continue his tolerant behaviour, 'just a few more questions.'

Sherlock sighed patiently, 'go ahead. Do you realise this is the longest conversation that we've had in a while, which hasn't erupted in shouting and cussing. It's quite good, isn't it?'

Immediately the doctor felt guilty. 'I am sorry I put you through all of that.'

The detective snorted loudly, before throwing a careless arm over his flat mate's hip as if they shared a bed everyday, 'As Lestrade has pointed out to me on many occasions, I am a lucky prick that you put up with me in the first place. John, I could see that you were suffering and if it was my secret to share, I would have asked someone for advice long ago. I am pleased that once again you favour me with your trust. Ask your questions.'  

 


	6. The rules

Chapter 6- The rules

'The virginity thing…how did you manage?' John fired out rapidly before Sherlock changed his mind, 'I mean in Uni, weren't you even the least bit curious?'

'Yes, I was curious!' the detective snorted with his usual disdain, as if John had once again asked him something extraordinarily silly. 'Everyone was so desperate to have sex and to have it as frequently as possible, that I knew it must be something wonderful. Of course I wanted some too. I tried but... it didn't work for me.'

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste, 'Do you really want to talk about this?'

_Yes!_

'It will help,' the doctor answered evenly, 'please believe me.'

Sherlock was frowning now as he removed his arm that was previously draped so comfortably over the doctor's hip.

'What do you want to know?' came the careful query. 

John sighed quietly.

He never wanted his friend to feel pressured especially in this matter of all things, but John couldn't let it go. It would be irresponsible of him if he did. He  _had_  to ensure he understood how his best mate felt about sex and more importantly why he was still a virgin. This idea of Sherlock having dubious consensual sex with him in some foolish attempt to get him to stay at Baker Street, was absolutely off the table, no matter how much Sherlock insisted that it didn't matter to him.

'Any of these "sex experiments" were with men?' John asked quietly, deciding to start from the beginning.

Sherlock's face creased into a wide, warm smile; relaxing a bit at the simple question that was poised at him, 'Yes, John.'

'Women?'

'Yes, but my university house was predominately male, so I cannot say with any statistical certainty that I have a preference, which is your next question.'

John was tempted to stick out his tongue childishly at his friend. It was indeed his next question.

'But this week is about you and your sexuality, isn't it?' Sherlock protested, 'I am not clear what you are attempting to discover here. Is this....is this pillow talk?'

John felt his heart melt into a puddle of goo, at the look of vulnerable curiosity that softened his friend's normally sharp features.

'I know you don't want to talk about this,' he replied instead, 'but if I can figure out what went wrong in your Uni day's, we can avoid that pothole. I don't want to do something to upset or hurt you.'

Sherlock stared at him. He knew his friend well enough to know that were certain points Captain John Watson would never negotiate on, and here was one. His stubborn face was set. John would roll out this bed and never come back if he lied or prevaricated.

'To be honest, I found having some stranger in such close proximity to be suffocating, disorienting and plainly not necessarily,' was the calm and thoroughly unexpected reply, as Sherlock's eyes glittered with some dark emotion.

_Huh?_

John felt his heart plunge straight down into his stomach, so great was his disappointment.

_Sherlock hated it._

'You didn't like it?' John mumbled stupidly.

_Suffocating? What does that mean? Did he mean to say  he had anxiety attacks? Why the hell am I in Sherlock's bed, if he feels like this? Suffocating?!_

'Well…some parts I liked,' Sherlock conceded after some thought, 'I liked the kissing for the most part, once my partner practiced good oral hygiene.'

Hope bubbled cautiously in John's chest. He would buy a whole carton of dental floss and stash it under the bath sink.

'Do you like kissing?' Sherlock asked, suddenly excited.

'Yes, I do,' the doctor answered a bit distractedly, 'but explain the suffocating part to me, Sherlock. This is important.'

'I am more interested to know when you think you would be ready to try some kissing.'

_Wait, is Sherlock staring at my mouth?_

John brushed off this enticing observation and its ramifications, refusing to be derailed from his quest for more information. He reached out one hand to grip his best friend's shoulder, 'Are you avoiding my question?'

For the first time that night; the first time actually since this amazing roller coaster began, the detective averted his eyes. Worriedly, John waited for the man to look up again. He felt strangely empty, now that he couldn't see directly into his friend's face.

Eventually, the detective took the hand that was on his shoulder and laced it tightly with his, 'John, when you are with your girlfriends, did you have rules for bed?'

John's brow furrowed, starting to feel nervous now at this rather abrupt change in Sherlock's manner,  'Not rules per say, as much as by mutual agreement but if you want to get technical, yes I have rules. One man's cup of tea is not for everyone.'

As the silence continued, John very gently reached out one hand and softly cupped the side of the man's face.

'I miss those beautiful eyes,' he murmured pitifully.

From this angle, he could just see the gleeful smile on the detective's face. John wasn't beyond a little manipulation at times himself, thank you very much. Sherlock always had a praise kink, which he noticed the first night that they met.

'I am glad you said that about rules,' Sherlock admitted as he looked up, 'because as much as I don't mind renting out my body to you for experimentation, there are things that I don't want done to it.'

A series of the most graphic images, flashed across John's eyeballs. Why or why did Sherlock have to use the phrase, 'rent out my body'?

It took him a good minute to recover his voice again, 'so you have some rules for me?

The detective's eyes flickered dangerously in the semi darkness, 'First off, for the preservation of my sanity; my name is Sherlock, not cutie pie, doll face, cupcake, pumpkin or some other nonsense!'

_Bummer, I really like the pumpkin one. Don't smile... don't smile... don't smile._

'Don't grab my ass in public, actually don't grab me at all please,' Sherlock continued in an aggravated voice. 'I need to breathe in the middle of a kiss. Don't stick your tongue down my throat to the point where I gag, and if you want me to take off my shirt, just ask. I was always annoyed when so many of my clothes got ruined that I sprayed most of my visitors with pepper spray, and threw them out. '

_Gag? Pepper spray? What the hell?!_

'I don't want to be tied up, so don't ask,' the detective then insisted in a firm tone, 'You're small and light, so I don't think I will have that trouble about being smothered into the mattress.'

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, 'If I can confess to you John, that was always the worse part; the absolute worse. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move… I couldn't do it. It was like some horrible game. Who could shut up that wanker, Sherlock Holmes the fastest? Everyone in school soon found out that I regularly threw off my partners. The natural conclusion to this rubbish, was that no one wanted to have much to do with me after a while. I could never figure out which part of all of this was supposed to be fun. I lost interest.'

At this point, John was so stupefied that when he opened his mouth, no words came out.

'But if that's what you have your heart set on, I can try,' the detective said in a resigned voice, 'however, I cannot do something like that every night, not  _even_  for you.'

'Nah… I know some people really get off on this dominatrix stuff, like our dear Ms. Adler, but it's not really my thing,' John said with a causal shrug of his shoulders, trying to play it cool. He wondered if Sherlock really understood all that he was saying. The doctor was horrified that so many things seemed to have gone wrong for his friend. Sherlock wasn't frigid at all. He had been traumatized and didn't even know it! Some of this even sounded like borderline rape. Thank God Sherlock had enough physical training to get out.

'Oh,' Sherlock murmured quietly, in that way that he often did when John did something that surprised him, 'thank you.'

Wasn't there anyone nice at this university? Sherlock's aspergers was probably worsening and coupled with all the uncomfortable close contact, it must have been a hellish and confusing time for the young man.

John moved closer trying to offer him some comfort. Obligingly, the other man opened his arms, and the doctor quickly scooted over to share his pillow. John didn't try and embrace his friend however, instead allowing the man to set the boundaries of what he felt comfortable with. He had to smile in personal pride, as Sherlock gathered him close to his body; apparently feeling no threat from the doctor.

'Besides the kissing, the parts I enjoyed the most, were putting on my best clothes and going to the theatre, museums and concerts,' Sherlock tacked on, 'can we do some of that?'

'As much as you want, I promise,' John replied, 'How about the circus, one without anyone trying to murder us?'

Sherlock's intense eyes, just inches from his face, sparkled in pleasure now.

'I remember calling mummy on the telephone at University …had to wait in line,' Sherlock murmured, 'you remember those phones that you put the coins in?'

'What did she say?'

'She told me to wait. Things would be a better when I found a friend to make love to. I don't think she imagined it would take nine years for this to happen.'

Suddenly Sherlock frowned, 'Do you think something is wrong with me? Perhaps, I have a malfunction. Is Donovan right when she calls me a freak?'

'You are not a freak!' John said sharply; his eyes flashing with anger. 'Over dinner, you said that I was a special person, and I believed you. Now you must believe me, when I tell you that you do not have a malfunction, you are not a freak. You are in fact, quite …quite amazing.'

Sherlock stared back impassively.

'I wish I was there with you at Uni,' John whispered, as he raised his hand to gently caress the side of the man's face, 'I would have taken better care of you than those idiots.'

'You're here now,' the detective remarked as John's strong but careful touch relaxed him, as it always did.

As much as John had fantasied for months about having wild, sweaty sex with his best mate, there was no rush. They were together now in this...whatever this was, and he wasn't going to worry about the future. He would continue to take care of Sherlock as he always had been, and they would figure out the 'sex part' at their own pace. 

'This is fantastic!' the detective said sleepily, blinking like an owl as he squashed John to his chest and tucked him under his neck, 'we should have done this as you soon as you moved in. I am going to add this to my hard drive in the good sex folder.'

John's body shook with quiet laughter as he turned his head and pressed a soft kiss on the man's collar bone, 'You do that.'

'Quite fantastic!' Sherlock repeated under his breath.

'You know you say that out loud?'

'Oh, shut up!' 


	7. The Basics of consent

John closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, enjoying the heat and the hardness of the man that he was wrapped around.

The talk had been excellent, better than he imagined and he felt so close to Sherlock right now. He hadn't wanted it to be one sided with the detective doing all the giving, and he all the taking and now, John saw an opportunity to do both. His heart beat with emotion for his friend, knowing it was within his power to provide Sherlock with an affirming experience that he could treasure and use as a comparison, throughout the rest of his life.

He reached up one hand to card his fingers through the mass of soft curls on Sherlock's head. The detective stiffened in surprise but eventually relaxed into the unfamiliar caress, mewling appreciatively as he shifted his position so now John was rhythmically massaging his scalp instead. 'Do you like that?'

'What do you think?' was Sherlock's ever acerbic reply.

John sighed and nipped the other man's neck briefly, warning him to play nice. 

This time, Sherlock stopped breathing all together.

'Sherl?'

The younger man shifted, tightening one arm and throwing a leg over, effectively trapping him place. 

'What's wrong?' John asked, trying to at least twist his head around from under Sherlock's neck to see into his eyes. Sherlock tightened his hold and John had no choice, not if he didn't want to use brute force to break the man's grasp. He tucked his face back into his friend's neck.

'Alright there, Sherl? What's going on in that giant head of yours?'

'Was that bite accidentally?'

_Shite. He sounds pissed._

'It was deliberate,' John answered truthfully.

'And this is something you enjoy?' 

'Yes,' he continued in a conversational tone, keeping it cool, 'I like to give my partners love bites and receive them in turn. If you don't like that, I won't do it again. '

'Just like that?' Sherlock countered in a suspicious voice.

'Yes, just like that,' John insisted firmly. This was good. If they were going to try their hand at a physical relationship, Sherlock needed to get comfortable verbalizing consent. 

He re-started the scalp massage as the detective launched into an interesting but perhaps inappropriate discourse on various bites he had observed on corpses, and what clues they could give. 

Eventually, the young man returned to the topic at hand. 

'I know that pleasure and pain sometimes go together with sex,' Sherlock began, 'Explain this, in detail if you please.'

_Oh boy._

'That is advanced sex theory,' John explained patiently, 'we can get to that a bit later.'

Sherlock batted his hands away from his hair in annoyance, 'Are you patronizing me?' 

'Not at all,' he replied refusing to be baited by Sherlock's peevish tone, 'but I want us to stick to basics for the while.'

'Basics?' Sherlock sputtered, 'Basics! you _are_ patronizing me! I am an adult, don't talk to me like I am a child!'

Sherlock grumbled under his breath as his bed mate continued to ignore him.  

'Fine! he spat out, 'Basics, like what?!'

'Basics like consent,' John answered. 'for instance...'

'Oh for the love of ....put love bites in the undecided column, then!'

'There is no undecided column, there is just no and yes.'

The sudden silence that fell between them was so sharp it felt alive.

'I will put it under no,' John decided quickly, 'it's not a problem.'

Instead of solving the issue, the doctor's response appeared to have made the situation worse. Sherlock's hold on him was so tense, John couldn't breathe properly.

'Sherlock, can you let go of me a minute? I want to look at your face, please. This is important.'

The doctor rolled on to his side, instead of perching on his elbows to tower over him from above. There was a nervous look in the other man's eyes that John didn't like at all.

'You can say no as many times as you like, I won't get angry.'

'I don't believe you,' Sherlock volleyed back in a tiny voice. The detective looked incredibly mortified that he had said that out loud.

'You should believe me.'

Anger and disgust crawled up John's throat; anger at all those persons who had failed Sherlock in past relationships. Wankers, all of them. God, he could murder the entire lot!

Gently but firmly he cradled the man's cheek, smiling as Sherlock pushed into his hand unconsciously like a cat, seeking reassurance. 

'If there is something I am doing that you don't like, you can say no,' John instructed him, 'I want you to say no. Tell me to stop. Tell me, John, I don't want you to touch me like that. Tell me, John, I have changed my mind, I don't want to do this. It's all fine. I will never get angry.'

They were lying so close to each other that Sherlock's ice blue eyes darted in between each of his, assessing...weighing. It was only natural that Sherlock was drawing on his past experiences.

'Okay.'

'Okay,' John repeated the word feeling relieved.

'This isn't so hard,' Sherlock sneered. 'why does everyone make such a big show of it?'

The doctor snorted, 'negotiating consent is bloody hard, don't think for a minute it isn't. This just seems easy because we are calm and ...er...not aroused.'

'Explain.'

John blew out an exasperated breath, trying to find the right words. 

'Say we are in the middle of making out...'

'making out?'

'yeah ...you know, trying some thing like...um...'

'Manual and oral stimulation, frottage, anal penetration,' Sherlock rattled off helpfully, 'John, what kind of a doctor are you? '

John rolled his eyes and huffed, 'Ok, say that we are experimenting with some form of stimulation, and you change your mind and want me to stop...'

Sherlock's eyes sparkled with interest as John struggled with his thoughts.

'...you might find it a challenge to tell me to stop. A lot of people do, unfortunately.'

He could see Sherlock processing these new facts in his head. 

'But I don't want that to be us,' John said in a firm voice, 'Open your mouth and yell at me. Cuff me in the face if you have to.'

The detective laughed in disbelief, 'don't be ridiculous, John. I couldn't hit you.'

'Sherlock,' John said slowly, willingly his partner to believe his words,  'you are a master at hiding your feelings. It would destroy me if I realized that you submitted to something you didn't want or didn't like, by my hands.'

The darkness was back in Sherlock's eyes.

John bit his lip, agonizing over what horrible thing had happened to his friend in the past to make him like this.

One day soon they would talk about it.

'I will never forgive you if you allow me to hurt you,' the doctor whispered hoarsely, his voice grating with the intensity of his emotion, 'never.'

The detective stared at him in that usual blank way he had, before covering his face with one hand. 

John cried out in distress when the other man started to shake all over.   

People always got it wrong, John knew that. It wasn't that Sherlock was devoid of emotion. The problem was he felt too much. 

  

* * *

 Sherlock walked out of Mind Palace 221B, and looked around him to assess the damage. He was still lying in bed in one of Henry Knight's guest rooms. John was sitting on a chair in his dressing gown, with a tumbler of amber liquid clutched in one hand. 

But he wasn't looking at him.

No, Captain John Watson was staring at the floor, crushing defeat written into every line of his body.

'How many of those have you had?' Sherlock asked cautiously, a flicker of panic in his chest that his bed mate might not be totally in sound mind. Their current adventure didn't need any more moving variables, especially volatile ones.

Startled, the doctor looked up quickly, and smiled; a grateful, warm and welcome smile, as though Sherlock speaking was the most amazing sound he had ever heard. 

'This is for you, not me,' John reassured, 'Oh Sherlock, you are a little better, aren't you? Just a little, right?'

The detective sat up and took the glass of brandy that was offered. With just one sip, a fiery heat blossomed through his body, all the way down to his bare toes. 'I am fine, just needed to get away for awhile.'

John's shoulders tensed and he resumed his staring of the floor. For want of something better to do, Sherlock slouched against the ornate bed head and took another sip of his medicinal brandy.

He had messed everything up. John wouldn't want to experiment anymore. He wouldn't want him as a lover. But John was here, he hadn't abandoned him in a fit of annoyance. His friend was with him, at least at the end of the day he still had that.

_Why do I ruin everything?_

'You look tired, do you want me to leave?' John muttered sadly, 'I can take another bedroom.'

His flatmate was standing now, looking so desolate that Sherlock thought his insides were being cut by glass. Another bedroom? Why? John belonged here with him; teaching him and guiding him, protecting him from danger without and within.

The doctor looked at some random point over his right shoulder, 'I am sorry that I upset you. I overwhelmed you with with all of this and I am sorry.'

Sherlock grabbed his hand as he made to walk off. 

At the last, courage had reared its head.

John stopped. 

Everything for John stopped as he waited. He couldn't believe when he felt a pressure in his fingers pulling him back to the bed. Astonished, he clambered up on to the free space that the other man had cleared for him. 

Together they sat enjoying the silence, but it was comfortable sort of silence now. It was the bone deep comfort of having come back from a horrible fight to find that the other person was still there, and that they still cared. They held each other's hands and shared the single glass of brandy.

'Relationships are not my area,' Sherlock reminded him, his eyes fixed safely on the bedclothes bunched around their legs. 

John nodded his head. Yes, he remembered. 

'But I still want to experiment, I don't want to be a virgin forever.'

John nodded again. Yes, he still wanted to experiment and assist his best friend any way he could. A part of him still couldn't believe that Sherlock wanted to try again. He had upset him so badly that the man had fled into his mind palace, for pity's sake.

'And I choose you to give my virginity to. I want it to be you. You would make it good for me.'

The doctor just nodded feebly, too moved by this declaration of trust and confidence to say anything suitably profound.

'I will listen to my body, and report negative feedback. '

'That's good, Sherlock,' the doctor praised him, squeezing his hand to show support, 'I am glad.'

'But I don't want to be in charge of anything!' Sherlock railed at him, looking him straight in the eye, 'If something goes wrong, you have to figure it out. I will help, but I don't want that responsibility!'

The detective was breathing hard now.

'I can't even take care of myself, you know that,' the young man wailed in misery as he opened his arms, 'please, John.'

The doctor gathered him close, 'Sherlock, I will take care of you. I will take care of everything. I am sorry, I am sorry I dumped all my shitty emotions on you. '

He rocked him to and fro, mumbling nonsense words as he rubbed his back soothingly. 'It's okay, I will take of everything, just breathe. We are going to be okay. We are okay.'

Eventually, Sherlock gently pushed him back with one hand. 'I am so difficult. Why do you even want me?'

'I like you just as you are, thank you very much,' John insisted with such a grumpy scowl on his face that the detective had to laugh. At that moment he realized, he never quite appreciated how beautiful his blogger turned lover really was. 

He rose up on his knees, and put his arms softly around John's neck, 'you would say something like that.'

'It's the truth,' the doctor growled stubbornly as he rested his hands on the man's slim waist above him.

'And you are as mad as a hatter.'

'I am not!' 

'John, I feel horny.'

Naturally, the doctor's brain stuttered off line.

Emboldened by his silence, Sherlock bent his head and pressed his lips experimentally against the man below him. John groaned as he fought to stay still, letting the other man explore his mouth as much as he liked. He didn't think he was mad, but God he was well on his way now, at this sudden turn of events. His eyeballs even rolled into the back of his head, as his would be lover took his lower lip between his own and pulled gently. 

Sherlock tasted like brandy and heat, desire and softness. Oh God, Sherlock bloody Holmes was kissing him!

Ruthlessly, the doctor kept himself in check, no matter how much he wanted to flip Sherlock on his back and devour him. The young detective was depending on him to take care of him, to take care of their changing relationship.

'Okay?' Sherlock muttered, checking in with John as the man's hands spasmed on his waist, squeezing his flesh painfully. 'Can I suck your tongue for a little bit?'

The detective turned bright red, as if embarrassed by his own sexual needs.

Obediently John opened his lips, and thought he was going to die right then and there, when Sherlock timidly drew his tongue into his mouth and moaned in ecstasy.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 


	8. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone, I am a bit busy these days. You get a short chapter today.

‘Fascinating!' was Sherlock's emphatic mumble as he pulled off from the now, half swollen lips of his flatmate.  The detective's eyes were blown wide, mouth hanging open slightly as he stared down in awe at the face below him.

In response, John slid one thumb over his lover's chin where excess saliva had smeared down its length from their round of vigorous snogging, 'you think so?'

_ Mine, mine, mine. _

John's arousal soaked brain chanted in time with his elevated pulse, as he stared distractedly at the young man's wet lips.

Normally a bit of kissing wouldn't arouse his body to this state of painful desire, but Sherlock's tentative licks and sucks had driven him near crazy. The contrast between bossy, abrasive flat mate and this timid first time lover, had woken up some strange primal beast within the normally self contained doctor.

However, he desperately wanted Sherlock to be physically comfortable around him, so he hit upon the clever notion to let the detective lead, and he would just sit back and supervise, providing nudges where necessary. He had even locked his hands behind his back to stop himself from being tempted to take over, or make any demands of his own.

He thought he was being oh so clever but apparently Sherlock had other ideas; ideas that were designed to explicitly shred at even John's iron self control.

As soon as it dawned on the young man that the doctor appeared content to just sit there and let him use his mouth, the detective had dived in enthusiastically, exploring to his heart's content with characteristic, single minded intensity. It was if no one had ever allowed him the time to discover at his own pace, and he was hurrying to take advantage of the opportunity before it was taken away.

A long time later after his systematic exploration, Sherlock had then shyly offered his own tongue for John to suck. Gleeful was the best word John could use to describe the way he felt as the detective melted boneless against him, when he latched on with his own talented and agile member, refusing to let go.

The breathing took some time to figure out, which was unexpected.

It truly was the most adorkable scene John had ever witnessed, and he waited in amused bemusement as Sherlock worked out a suitable timing. He could tell Sherlock was embarrassed but he nodded reassuringly, even as the consulting detective went red in the face from a lack of oxygen.

In time Sherlock gained confidence and finesse, gauging what was the most pleasurable John supposed, from his expressive vocalizations and increased heart beat. The doctor enjoyed the feather like touches, but it was the firmer almost bruising kisses he appreciated the most. Sherlock still seemed a bit undecided, but John had no issue with that. No one was born knowing exactly what they liked.

'Ready for some water?’ John asked kindly, bringing himself back into the present.

But if Sherlock heard him was any one's guess as he moved away to unfold himself on the bed, in his usual thinking position. The detective seemed to have had enough for the moment as he steepled his hands in their normal prayer position, and drifted off presumably to his Mind Palace, where the doctor was pretty sure a three dimensional image of the inside of his mouth was being installed 

In the meantime, John swung his legs off the side of the bed, struggling to pull together his strung out thoughts. He looked down at where his erection was barely contained by the folds of Sherlock's gown. 

For a moment he thought of heading to the bathroom to relieve himself but that idea vanished as he turned around to look back at the peaceful, flushed features of his best friend. After experiencing the warmth of being plastered to Sherlock's side, to go now into a cold, soulless toilet would be intolerable.

John stood up and focused his thoughts elsewhere. His arousal would die down eventually. The doctor's mind compiled his normal check list as he headed out the door as if they were home. 

Five minutes later he re-entered the room, arms laden with extra blankets, bottles of designer water and some dark chocolate for Sherlock. As could be expected the other man had not moved a muscle. 

John bustled around, quietly perching the items on Sherlock's night table, hoping the detective would drift off to the sleep as he was already laying down. He had been driving for hours. Sherlock must be tired now, if not physically perhaps emotionally. He knew he was. 

Last but not least, he carefully draped the extra blanket across Sherlock's legs.

He was not shy but it felt wrong somehow to stare at his bed's mate cock as it strained against his pyjama bottoms, while he was away in his Mind palace. It was a simple thing, but it was important to John. He had worked his ass of to be in this position of trust and he wasn't going to jeopardise that because of a rush of hormones.

He still felt like pumping his fist as though he was celebrating at a sporting event.

Sherlock may never fall in love with him the way he wanted, but at least his body found pleasure with his. Really to want for more would be greedy.

John hummed happily as he prepared himself for bed.

Slowly, he slid closer to Sherlock's side trying not to disturb his friend and he draped one arm across his shoulders. As much as enjoyed being wrapped around Sherlock, he didn't relish being the teddy bear again. The power dynamic was a bit off to be considered comfortable. He was most definitely not the small spoon! It would be interesting to see how they would solve this dilemma. 

The room suddenly plunged into darkness as the last log on the fire spluttered into nothingness. Unfortunately, it was enough to disturb his flat mate and Sherlock stirred minutely at his side, 'John?

'I'm here,' he murmured, smoothing his curly hair with one hand. 'There's water on your nightstand.'

The detective sighed as he tilted his head to lie against John's smooth, cool hair. 'I really liked what we did. Thank you for my kisses.'

'You don't have to thank me, Sherl,' John insisted, a flicker of annoyance directed at the faceless persons in the man's past who had not taken care of Sherlock properly, 'I loved kissing you too.'

'I know.'

John huffed with laughter, rolling his eyes at the smugness in the detective's voice.


	9. Suggestions

'Afghanistan or Iraq?'

Sherlock's voice still lingered in his ear as the doctor woke up with a start.

He had been dreaming.

Well he couldn't remember what now, but in that weird way dreams had, one thought had morphed rapidly into the next. The doctor wasn't surprised that his mind had moved to the middle east, perhaps because he was currently sweltering uncomfortably in bed. 

'Sherlock, get off me!' John hissed in the darkness, 'you're too heavy!'

The detective stirred, muttering petulantly, 'but I'm warm.'

Sherlock made a feeble attempt to move but somehow managed to cover even more of John's body than before. 

'Sweetheart?' John sighed softly. He would never fall back asleep now. Sherlock was too heavy and too hot for this position, and all this wiggling around had made certain parts of John's anatomy sit and up and take notice. 

_Great._

The doctor braced one hand behind Sherlock's neck and tucked his leg between that of his bedmate, preparing to leverage him off as gently as he could. Hopefully, the young man would sleep through it all.

'What are you doing?' Sherlock inquired in a sharp voice which indicated that not only was he fully awake, but now he was on the defensive. The detective pushed against his grip and John instantly loosened his hold.

'You were too heavy,' the doctor explained as the other man propped himself on one elbow.

Surprised, Sherlock obligingly moved away, rolling right over John's stiffening cock by accident. The detective yelped and shot up in astonishment, fumbling for the light on the bed side table. 

'You have an erection!' Sherlock shouted happily, 'Can I see it? Why do you have one? Was it something I did?!'

The doctor blinked rapidly trying to adjust his vision. Sherlock had the advantage as his back was to the light, and while he waited for the doctor to catch up, he eagerly unraveled the sash of the other man's dressing gown.

Eventually, John sat up on his elbows, 'you know you have one too, right?'

Sherlock flinched, suddenly aware that he had been staring avidly at John's penis.  He glanced up expecting a reprimand, but was met only with a bemused look. 'Not good?'

John waved off this concerned query, trying not to laugh. Sherlock looked like a mad scientist, with his mouth slightly askew and his hair fluffed out in a wild halo. 'It's fine. What are you thinking about so hard at this...'

The doctor glanced across to the luminous hands on his wrist watch on the night stand table. With a groan he slumped back down on the mattress.

'....at this god awful hour in the morning?'

'This, of course!' Sherlock exclaimed pointing excitedly at his blogger's groin, seemingly unaware of said person's frustration at being awake instead of asleep.

'Let me guess,' John said wearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, 'you find it fascinating.'

The detective wilted visibly at his friend's sarcastic tone. Yes, he found it fascinating! A person's entire nervous and circulatory system had redirected itself because of his proximity. 

'How can you want to sleep now?' Sherlock snapped peevishly, bouncing once on the bed to vent his annoyance, 'if it wasn't for me, you would sleep through everything interesting!'

'Are you implying I'm old?' John joked, his brain coming more on line with every passing second. 'That's not a nice thing to say to someone when you are in bed with them.'

The tense silence made John look up quickly in time to catch the stricken expression on his friend's face. He pulled himself back on to his elbows and caught Sherlock's chin, just as he made to turn away.

'Don't go,' the doctor insisted, trying to soften his rebuke, 'it was just one of my bad jokes. You know that I am rubbish, the first few moments when I wake up. Stay here with me.'

Sherlock shook his head, 'I wasn't leaving.'

He didn't think he could leave now, even if he tried. There were just too many bits of data and new stimuli to catalog. Who knew that John, the king of the droll jumpers, could be this exciting. He moistened his dry lips anxiously, 'Now what?'

John groaned internally. They were going about this so slowly that Sherlock was overthinking everything, instead of allowing natural desire to direct his actions. But then again, such desire had been severely stunted in his university days, making him nervous and jumpy. Look how strangely he reacted when he, John, had braced a hand around the back of his neck to flip him over. 

Time for some more basic 101. God there was not enough coffee in the world to be this awake at this hour, but anything for Sherlock, the current love of his existence. 

'Now nothing,' John answered calmly, 'not unless you want to do something. It's not your responsibility to ensure that I get off, when I have an erection. But I need to take care of this, can I go to the bathroom?'

'What? Why?!' Sherlock looked so flustered and horrified, that the doctor had to grab hold of his arm to ground him. 'you don't have to leave. How will I learn about your body? Stop it, you are confusing me. Stop that!'

John grabbed both sides of his head and forced him to look into his eyes, 'breathe, just breathe.'

Sherlock nodded and obeyed, timing his breaths to match those of the man underneath him. He couldn't do this without John, he really couldn't.

'Sorry,' he replied more in his normal voice, after a minute of deep breaths, 'Have you changed your mind about having sex? Is that why you want to go to the bathroom?'

'It was a suggestion.'

'Is it me? Is it that you don't want me anymore?' Sherlock inquired in an emotionless voice, 'You don't have to lie to spare my feelings. I would rather you didn't in this case.'

'It was a suggestion,' John repeated in the same tone. He couldn't force Sherlock to believe him. The man trusted him with many things, his flat, his work, his health. Trust in bed would come in time.

Eventually, the detective nodded as if deducing the truth from whatever facial indicators he normally employed 

'I don't like that suggestion, John.'

Progress!

'Can I make another suggestion?' the doctor asked quickly, giving the conversation a nudge.

'I think you better.'

'Can I rub against your leg?'

Sherlock looked a little blank as if hadn't spoken in English. 'Couldn't I just watch you masturbate?'

_God, yes!_

'That's was a good suggestion, Sherlock,' he replied, his voice hoarse, 'very sexy; very. Anything else you want?'

'Can you open your legs a bit wider?' Sherlock instructed now with a bright but confused smile that John found his words sexy. 'Yes? Excellent. One moment, let me re-position this light. John? What are you doing?! Breathing at regular intervals is of critical importance for prolonged good health.'

The doctor obediently spread his legs, but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Sherlock's as he grabbed his cock in one hand, almost sobbing at the feeling of relief. He hadn't realised how hard and hot he had gotten during their little conversation. 

'Okay?' he choked out, still determined to stop if Sherlock asked him too, but the other man seemed just as determined now as he resolutely grabbed a small tube of hand lotion from the night stand, and gestured for him to hold out his free hand. Efficiently, he squeezed out a small amount of the lubricant on his palm.

'To prevent chafing,' Sherlock explained. The man looked so proud that he remembered that John wanted nothing more than to grab him, and kiss him senseless.

'Can I kiss you?' he begged straining upwards. 

'No,' Sherlock replied with a stern look, 'we are masturbating now, kisses will be later. Focus, John.'

The doctor snorted happily, as he lay back down. Sherlock was back to bossing him around. Now he knew for certain that the other man was feeling comfortable with their current activities. Without further preamble, he gently slicked up his sensitive member and began to stroke it the way he liked, when he wanted to draw out and enjoy the sensations for as long as he could.

He tried to keep focused to take in his friend's reaction but of course, thinking while you were hard as a rock was never possible. At least Sherlock didn't look scared or repulsed, more absorbed and thoughtful than anything else.

The other man's face soon became his proverbial lighthouse in a dark storm, as the doctor writhed and panted under his unwavering gaze. His skin broke out in a sheen of sweat as the blood pounded in his groin, sending waves of such god awful pleasure through each part of his body, that he had to have more and he had to have it right now! Accordingly, he increased his strokes to match.

'That looks quite enjoyable,' the detective remarked conversationally.

Sherlock hadn't moved an inch; too intent on cataloging with his oh so incredible mind, the way his bed mate varied his speed, the number of times he alternated between his cock and his balls, the way he gasped every time his hand closed around his dripping tip.

In a daze, John began to day dream about how Sherlock would look beautiful like this.

On his back, legs up and spread apart with perhaps his arms over his head, fingers clutching desperately at the sides of his pillow, while John rhythmically massaged his straining cock. 

Would his eyes be glazed over as he gnawed on his perfect cupid bow lips?

Would his long, smooth body be flushed a gorgeous dark red, just like his cock; all warm satin covering steel?

'Sherlock, please,' he started begging mindlessly, as pre-cum dribbled down his penis in a steady stream. 'Please.'

'John?' the other man asked in concern, 'are you alright?'

His legs were shaking with the intensity of this stimulation. He couldn't hold on for much longer now.

'Fuck, Sherlock! Do something…anything…'

His breathing had long changed into a series of sharp gasp, but hell if he noticed that, as the detective crawled over his body and positioned himself right over him. Waiting.

_Waiting for what?_

But it was too late to figure out what the other man wanted. Even as he tried to slow down to hold his release at bay, it started to pound away at the base of his spine.

In that last second, John craned his head back so that he could look full into the man's blue grey eyes.

_God, he is so beautiful._

It was his last coherent thought, before his pleasure tore him apart and arched his body off the bed.

With surprising strength the slim man caught him in mid air and crushed him to his chest, tilting his head back with his other hand before slamming his lips over his. The doctor screamed his release into Sherlock's mouth, clutching the man so hard around his back that as they crashed back down into the bed together, it was sure to leave bruises. Desperately, John wound his bare legs tightly around the man's slim waist as he bucked and rubbed and squeezed out every last drop of his orgasm to the very end.

Silence came in a long slow sigh, and John opened his arms as he slipped off into the abyss into a dreamless sleep. 


	10. Boyfriend?

The sun, warm on his bare shoulder, woke John slowly.

Of course there was a moment of disorientation as to where, what and why, but that soon passed as he stretched luxuriously in the fine Egyptian cotton sheets.

He was on holiday with Sherlock, and the detective had so kindly allowed him to sleep in for once.

He didn't know why he was naked though, and he rooted through the covers and then the floor of the bedroom, searching for the dressing gown that he was wearing last night. In the distance, he could faintly hear Sherlock puttering around downstairs.

With a soft huff of laughter, John passed his fingers over his swollen lips as he got up to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, with the spare toothbrushes in Henry's well stocked cabinets. Sherlock wasn't lying when he said he enjoyed kissing. The doctor couldn't express how happy he felt at the tangible knowledge that the other man found such pleasure in his body.

'Sherlock! I can't find your robe!' he finally called out admitting defeat, as he pulled the sheet around his lower body, toga style. It was a little chilly in the large room.

'I'm wearing it!' Sherlock called up unexpectedly, 'Don't get out of bed.'

With another stupid giggle and a big smile, John fell back on his pillow with a contented sigh. His pulse started to quicken however as he heard the man's light step on the stair case, and thoughts of a warm luxurious good morning kiss, stirred in his brain.

Looking back at the last awful few months, he was just glad that Sherlock had the insight to speak up, and try and do something to save their friendship. John wasn't entirely certain where they were going from here but hell, anything had to better than where they were. It made him shake his head all the times he agonised about his friendship with the other man; if wanting something was different to having the thing. Having was definitely better in this case.

His plan of receiving a good morning kiss evaporated from his mind however, when the other man walked in and hefted a huge tray of breakfast into his lap.

The detective looked disheartened at his friend's pale expression and minutely examined the tray, 'What? Did I do it wrong?'

John shook his head quickly.

'No,' he said in a soft voice, 'thank you. Wow this is amazing'

Sherlock looked doubtful but relaxed when John picked up his cup of tea with a happy sigh.

'I did some research on the internet while you slept in,' Sherlock explained as he sat on the edge of the bed, facing out from him, 'I found this list of how to be a good boyfriend. Making breakfast was the least nauseating activity.'

John almost choked out his toast, 'Boyfriend?!'

Sherlock looked back at him impassively, 'yes, boyfriend. I have been your flat mate for a number of months, John. I know you need more than a quick shag. Naturally you are going to have to give me some directions on what you would like. Remember to be specific! Text me if you don't think your requests are penetrating my brain.'

Why was it that everything that involved the detective, made you feel as though you were in the middle of a hurricane?

_Boyfriend?!_

_Boyfriend._

_Well...okay_.

'So, that's what we're telling people?' John inquired, wanting to double check.

'You know that I don't give a curse what you tell people,' Sherlock responded in his usual querulous tone as he turned away and pressed his fingers together to think, 'whatever you decide is fine.'

Silence fell but it wasn't unpleasant. It was quite like any other morning, when Sherlock patiently waited for his blogger to finish eating his food, the exceptions being that the detective didn't normally cook and John didn't usually eat naked.

'Can you sit closer?' John asked, taking the "be specific plan" out for a test drive.

He smiled as Sherlock shuffled a little closer. Now, the doctor could comfortably rest his hand on any part of the detective's body that he wanted. His eyes narrowed on to the man's back.

'Can you remove your robe?'

Sherlock turned his head with a reluctant look, 'I would rather you eat first. You didn't have much at dinner last night. This is not a rejection; food first, sex later.'

_Food first, sex later?!_

John grinned down into his cup of tea.

Well...well, a certain timid kitten was beginning to sit up and roar.

'No, actually I just want to see your back,' the doctor explained. 'I think I may have hurt you last night.'

'You did,' Sherlock said causally with a shrug, 'It's alright. You can't help being enthusiastic about me.'

The doctor hissed as though he was the one in pain, and tried to tug the man's robe off his shoulders but Sherlock slid out of his grasp. 'John, just eat. It's fine. My skin bruises easily, as you very well know. You'll get use to it.'

'I doubt that,' John remarked darkly as he opened his arms. Once again, Sherlock sat close, but this time John concentrated on his breakfast, coaxing the detective to have small nibbles ever so often. Surprisingly Sherlock took the small bites without a fuss. Did the man like to be hand fed? John stored the idea up for further exploration.

'About last night...'

John smiled at such a classic movie line. 'Yeah?'

'Are you getting what you wanted?' Sherlock stammered out unsurely, 'I think we have gone off script entirely.'

The doctor beokned him to lean to the side where he proceeded to press a close mouthed kiss to his lips, 'I am most definetly getting what I want.'

'And no sexual identity crisis?' Sherlock asked quickly.

John shook his head.

'Not as yet,' the young man countered in a sober manner.

The doctor blew out a sigh, 'no, not as yet.'

Sherlock averted his eyes slightly, 'I half expect that any minute, you will run out that door like your head is on fire. You are not going to do that, right? You're not going to abandon me all the way out here, are you?'

John frowned, deeply distressed that the other man was harbouring such thoughts, 'You should have woken me up if this is worrying you. We could have talked about it and no, I am not going to abandon you or whatever.'

The detective's eyes cut sharply to his face.

'Look, if I didn't leave after the head in the fridge incident,' John reasoned calmly, 'I doubt that I am going anywhere now.'

Reassured now, Sherlock's face crinkled in amusement at the memory. Cross eyed, he then stared suspiciously at the ripe strawberry that his best mate was tapping against his closed lips, before opening his mouth to accept the sugary treat.

'And are you enjoying yourself?' John cut in, interrupting his thoughts. 'You surprised me earlier this morning. I thought you wanted to watch.'

The detective felt a strange heat slowly creeping up the back of his neck.

He had surprised himself too. He had thought that all he wanted was to learn how John liked his penis being rubbed, so he could repeat when the doctor needed to orgasm, but he gotten entirely sidetracked during the session. After a while he didn't want to just watch, he wanted more. He wanted to be closer, he wanted to feel what John was feeling.

'Is that something you think you may want to try?' the doctor asked softly, running his hand though his curly hair, 'would you like to lay down so I can massage you like that?'

Tuthfully?

Sherlock turned to face him fully, 'I don't know. It was a bit intense at the end. It was as if you lost control of your senses and you didn't even know where you were. Didn't you find that alarming? You made yourself so vulnerable.'

'I wasn't scared,' John replied in astonishment, 'I was with you. Oh Sherlock, is this first time you have seen someone orgasm? Please don't be afraid, not of me. That would kill me.'

Sherlock leaned in closer and the doctor opened his mouth to let him in, and take the reassurance he needed.

Eventually, he pulled away and rested his forehead against his, 'Don't be afraid, Sherlock. I agree that an orgasm is intense but you will love how much pleasure you feel, both physically and mentally. It makes the entire experience extra special when you can let go and just be you, and know that you are accepted for the person you really are.'

Sherlock closed his eyes. It did sound incredible when John explained it like that. He appreciated though that John didn't pressure him to make a decision right away, as he picked up a piece of toast and cut it into bite size quarters.

When breakfast was done, Sherlock inspected the empty plates with a nod. He removed the tray and promptly shrugged off his robe, and pulled down his pyjama shirt off one shoulder. John turned his head away with a groan of anguish, sickened at the ugly blue black marks decorating the man's skin.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' he hissed out angrily, 'God, I am sorry.'

'You can kiss it and make it better,' Sherlock suggested eagerly as he plopped down on the edge of the bed; his eyes lighting up like Christmas morning.

John started and then laughed out loud, smiling warmly at such a childish notion but he didn't have a problem with such traditional medicine. He was careful to take another sip of tea to warm up his lips, just in case.

Rising up on his knees, he braced his weight on Sherlock's shoulder, before leaning down to kiss the man's back, excitedly enjoying the soft moan of pleasure that the other man emitted. With more confidence now, he started to suck softly on the man's flesh, as he kissed and caressed a path along the smooth expanse of his skin. He so badly wanted to remove the man's shirt all together.

'Good?' John asked breathlessly.

'I now understand when people say sweet torture,' Sherlock croaked out, as he turned his head and swiftly captured the man's mouth with his.

John jerked in surprise, but quickly melted into the man's embrace, allowing Sherlock to take control as he thoroughly enjoyed this dark fantasy that he never thought would be his. The detective was more than happy to oblige and climbed over him, gently pushing his friend back on to the mattress.


	11. am I doing it right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, while I appreciate story prompts and other comments, "more sex" is not a helpful comment and actually induces writer's block. My story is a romance with a tiny sprinkling of spicy bits, which I think is quite apparent from my choice of tags. I do appreciate though that you have taken the time to read through my work.

Now John was always a considerate lover, so naturally he wanted Sherlock to enjoy the experience of being flat on his back, while the doctor figured out, 'just the way he liked it'. If the detective didn't stop kissing him now, all his lovely daydreams for Sherlock would evaporate. The man still had on _all_ his clothes for christsake! How was this fair?

'Sherl, are you sure you don't want to have a turn? Anything you want, I'll do,' John panted between kisses, but if the man heard he was ignoring him to pursue his own agenda. To thank him for his selfless generosity, John pushed his fingers roughly through Sherlock's curly hair, angling his head to deepen the kiss. Sherlock's satisfied hum of pleasure, swept all of his plans for him to one side.

_Who the hell cared whose turn it was?! He could fuck Sherlock for the rest of the day, if he wanted to! He was on holiday, dammit!_

Suddenly, Sherlock yelped and scrambled back in alarm, clawing at the sheets that were bunched around the doctor's legs. 

After a moment John laughed and pretended to be embarrassed as he covered his face with one arm, while the other man gave him a look of shocked disbelief. 'Don't sit there and judge me. I am a man whore, I know.'

They both looked down as John's cock strained out and up, thickening into its new shape. Sherlock estimated that he and John were about the same length, but John was a bit thicker across. 

'You have an erection again,' the detective stated unsurely, somewhat confused by John's body , 'Are my kisses so arousing?'

_Fuck, yes!_

Sometimes Sherlock just had to look at him over his shoulder with his intense eyes, and John would have to duck behind the nearest post to fix his pants.

'Sherlock, I don't know how you haven't deduced this by now, but I am very, very attracted to you,' John murmured out in a hoarse voice as he fondled his cock with one hand and caressed the side of Sherlock's face with the other. 

The detective couldn't help but blush a bright scarlet, and he reached out proudly to touch the tip of other man's penis that had reacted so strongly because of him.  Pride turned to despair though as awful memory reared its head, as memories sometimes do at the worst possible time.  

Andrew was a beautiful first year undergrad and hero of the school's rowing team. He was a big individual with an even bigger smile, and when he wasn't winning races, he was dragging Sherlock behind campus buildings and kissing him until Sherlock didn't know which way was up. Andrew either hadn't known or cared about the gossip regarding that fourth year student, with the dreadful attitude. 

When the boy had invited him to the boat house at sunset to try something new, Sherlock knew that this was it. After so many failed attempts, Sherlock had found someone to give his virginity too. 

He visited the school nurse to refresh his supplies of lubricant and to obtain some larger sized condoms. He had been nervous about Andrew's size and had wanted to ask the doctor's staff a few questions. In the end he didn't. There wasn't anything he could do about that in any case. Racing not to be late, he hurried to his room to change into that special pair of soft jeans that made his "arse look good" according to girls in the chemistry class, and touched up his appearance with some Bees lip balm.

The setting couldn't have been more romantic. However, no matter how diligently Andrew stroked, Sherlock couldn't stay erect. Frustrated, Andrew had slapped him across the face so hard that he split his lip open. Sherlock had been too humiliated to even think of striking back.

For a long time after that Sherlock lay flat on his back in the bottom of the boat, and let the twinkling stars and rocking motion of the water comfort him. When the cold had become unbearable, he sat up and gathered his limp and painfully overstimulated penis, and zipped up his front. He was glad that he met no one as he made his way back to his rooms.

The next morning, Mycroft had telephoned him out of the blue from his new government office and assured Sherlock that he would never see Andrew again. Sherlock didn't care or ask where his brother had transferred the boy he thought cared for him. 

Andrew was the very last person that he attempted to have sex with. 

Sherlock came back to the present, to find that John was staring up at him with a look of concern. 'What are you thinking about? Do you want to talk about it?'

The detective sat back on his heels, 'I just remembered something.'

Something bad, the doctor thought, judging from the man's pained expression.

'I sometimes have difficulty holding an erection, sorry.'

John's eyes widened in surprise as Sherlock felt a wave of cold embarrassment crash over him, and how could he not, what with John's hard penis waving happily at him, less than a foot away.

'I wasn't trying to cheat you,' the young man added hastily as John said nothing reassuring, 'I would have said something earlier, but I must have blocked it out. I can still do stuff... with my hands and fingers. Don't be disappointed.'

'I am not disappointed ,' John protested automatically, kicking himself for not speaking up in time to prevent this wave of fresh doubt, 'please don't fret like this. You like being here with me, right?'

Sherlock nodded.

'And you like kissing me?'

Sherlock nodded again.

'And you like holding me?'

'John?'

'What I am trying to say is that is plenty for the moment,' the doctor explained, 'it's more than I thought I could  _ever_  have. Sometimes I can't believe I am here with an such an incredible, lovely person like you. I want you to stop worrying. There are lots of ways to make love.'

Make love?

Who still said things like that?

Apparently Dr. John Watson did, and Sherlock felt as though his body relaxed into a warm tub of bathwater. The man's easy acceptance of all his "peculiarities" made him feel as though a great burden had been lifted off his chest, and he ached to thank his best mate in a suitable manner. 

The detective reached over and found the small tube of lotion in the drawer. 'Please touch yourself.'

Mesmerized, he stared as John fingers obediently ghosted over his enlarged member. 

John watched Sherlock watching him. Foreplay with Sherlock was so fucking hot that the doctor felt as though his skin was on fire. 

He took his thumb and slowly spread the moisture from the tip over his glans, clearly visible now as his foreskin retracted.  'You like this, don't you?'

The detective made a sound as though he was dying, lighting up every last neuron in John's brain.

'How about you share some of that lotion with me?' he reminded him gently in a husky whisper.

For a long moment, Sherlock watched him defiantly in the eye and then squirted the remaining liquid into his own hand, leaving nothing for the doctor to use. 

John gaped in surprise.

_Well now! Nothing is wrong with your sex drive._

He stacked both his hands behind his head, baring his body for his favourite scientist to explore.

'A little harder,' he counselled softly.

'A bit more. Think of gripping a frying pan, when you make eggs.'

'You are in control, Sherlock. Yes that's it. That's perfect, baby.'

The young man leaned over to kiss him, and John's whole body clenched with sudden passion. Sherlock's thick tongue unexpectedly and wonderfully started to rhythmically caress the insides of mouth, in time with the motion of his warm hand, curled around his penis.

_Where the fuck did he learn that?!_

The doctor fell into a sort of mindless stupor of sensation, as he lay sprawled motionless on the bed, while the other man worked on him. The only thing he could feel were two points of pleasure pulsating in his body every few seconds; one from his chest as he struggled to drag in sufficient oxygen, and the other from the building pressure in his groin. 

The doctor tried to pull himself together to at least focus on the kiss so Sherlock wouldn't have to do all the work, but that too was a colossal failure as his head lolled back on the pillow. He moaned anew when he abruptly realised that the loud wet sounds that Sherlock's hand was making as he stroked, was his pre-cum dripping through his fingers.

Sherlock gently kissed along the line of his exposed throat, 'John, am I doing it right? Is it good?'

Well that's what John thought he said, as most of the doctor's brain was solely focused on the feel of Sherlock's dexterous fingers sliding up and down, working his throbbing cock. 

'You're a very good student,' John complimented him in broken voice, clutching desperately at the bed sheets this time, not wanting to leave any more ugly marks on Sherlock's skin in his enthusiasm, 'quite good.'

'Top marks?' Sherlock grinned, wondering if it was normal to make jokes and lighter banter in the middle of sex. He felt as though he was floating in a sea of endophorins. There was no past or no future, just wonderful John praising him and letting him use his wonderful body.

'Top of the class,' John huffed with a strangled gasp.

'Thank you,' Sherlock hummed softy in his ear, leisurely bringing up his other hand to tenderly stimulate John's balls, as he had seen the other man do it. He felt fully rewarded for his careful and precise efforts, as the doctor arched straight of the bed and started to curse loudly.

Gleefully Sherlock soaked up all the profanity, deeply regretting that he wasn't recording this. This really was quite an enjoyable exercise. He was extremely impressed that the gentle doctor could string together so many obscenities in such a grammatically correct sentence.

'Faster! John yelled out, 'Fuck, Sherlock! Just a little more …please.'

'John, open your eyes. I want you to look at me when you are coming, like how you did last night,' Sherlock pleaded as more of the doctor's pre-cum leaked out in a tell tale signal. 'I've never had anyone look at me like that. It was …'

The rest of Sherlock's words were drowned out as the doctor opened his eyes and screamed out his name.

Startled, the detective almost let go as the long ropes of blood hot semen, suddenly squirted over his fingers and into his lap, but he didn't. Smiling peacefully, he helped the man ride out his orgasm.

John had looked at him again. It was worth another trip downstairs to the washing machines, just to see that particular expression.

Gently, he caressed his bed mate's flushed face and as he stared down in wonder at the doctor sprawled wantonly across his lap; eyes closed, limp and blissed out of his mind, a small trickle of saliva dripped down Sherlock's chin.

His conductor of light had again opened new pathways in his brain.

Sherlock wanted some of this for himself. He actually wanted because now he understood. Sex wasn't some chore to just do and be done with, or to endure for the sake of another person. It was something that made you feel good. It was something to looking forward to, to want in the core of your being until your teeth ached. 

The man wiped his lips, embarrassed that he was drooling like a mad person. He couldn't wait for next time, so he could ask for his turn at orgasm. 

'Kiss me,' the doctor demanded in a hoarse voice, as he opened his eyes.  Normally the detective didn't take orders from anyone, but he found he wasn't having any problem making an exception.

 


	12. complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for not posting. I have been crazy busy at work!

John gaped over the side of the bath tub, through the open door and into the bedroom beyond.

Sherlock had just deposited him there in the warm water with a stern admonition to wash. John wasn't embarrassed by this, he  _was_  a doctor after all. Even though Sherlock kept their living area in Baker Street like a giant walk in rubbish bin, the detective was a man of impeccable personal hygiene. John had to agree that all the sticky cum, now drying on his stomach and thighs wasn't so pleasant to be around.

However, what the doctor was more focused on as the tub continued filling with warm water, was the sight of Sherlock bustling around the bedroom, tidying up! John even took the precaution of rubbing his eyes once to ensure it wasn't a hallucination.

His eyes were not playing tricks on him.

The detective was in the process of stripping the bed and laying out fresh clean linen and as stupid as it might sound, the sight of such domesticity gave John as much butterflies in his stomach as the few times Sherlock had trailed around their flat, fresh from a shower with his towel riding low on his hips.

John sighed as he reached up over his head and turned off the tap, anxious at this realization of the deep attraction he had for the other man. It might still be too early to tell, but he was beginning to suspect that what he felt for Sherlock, wasn't just a passing physical infatuation at all.

This could get complicated.

'What?' Sherlock inquired over his shoulder, noticing that the other man was staring. John quickly averted his eyes, and pretended to be interested in reading the label on the bottle of body wash.

'Nice to have you tidying up for a bit,' John threw out quickly, 'cheers.'

Sherlock nodded, 'the internet said that sharing the chores keeps your partner happy. Are you feeling happy?'

The list!

Oh God, how could he forget.

Sherlock was treating all of this like some giant science experiment, mentally trying out different scenarios and types of behavior, and assessing how happy it made his bed mate. The detective was probably recording all his results in his mobile, just as he did for his chemistry projects! The doctor covered his face with one hand. Far from being strange and out of character, this was just the sort of mad thing Sherlock would think was a good idea.

'Yes, I am feeling happy,' John replied, rolling his eyes internally before giggling ruefully under his breath. Sherlock was such an amazing person to go through all this trouble to ensure their 'friendship was operating at peak efficiency', that it was quite impossible  _not_  to be a little bit in love with him.

The doctor risked another stare as his lover happily hummed Vivaldi under his breath.

Sherlock was smiling peacefully as he worked around the room, and for this John was glad. He thought the man might be extremely distressed about his admission earlier regarding his erections, because the younger man was the type of over achiever who couldn't stand being a poor performer at any task. John wasn't particular too worried though. As a doctor, he had successfully treated several men and women for impotency, without the need for any pharmaceuticals. 

His heart swelled warmly that Sherlock trusted him not only with his physical hurts, but his mental ones as well.

'Do you need anything? I am going to stuff these in the machine,' the detective announced, pulling off his stained blue dressing gown and tossing it on the heap on the floor.

'One kiss?' John begged, wanting something solid to hold on to in the midst of this madness which was his life.

Sherlock promptly marched into the bath, leaned over and kissed him on his mouth, as though they did this everyday. Either it was intuition or Sherlock deduced him, but the kiss was warm, hard and passionate; everything that John needed to calm him. The doctor melted back into the now sudsy water with a goofy grin, unable to recall what he was thinking about just a while ago.

'Get back into bed when you're done,' the detective ordered as he rose to his feet. 'You still look exhausted. I shouldn't have touched you.'

'Don't apologise,' the doctor requested, 'I like the way your hands feel. Come back and sleep with me.'

The detective didn't respond as he walked out and gathered up the soiled laundry under one arm and picked up the breakfast tray with the other. Unfortunately, all this vigorous activity caused a long lock of his wavy dark hair to fall across his eyes, and Sherlock was forced to blow it off his face with a sharp puff of air. 'This boyfriend business is hard work, John. Be back shortly. I am quite ready for a nap!'

* * *

  'You know,' John remarked conversationally in a sleepy voice, 'I never thought of you as a hugger.'

Sherlock looked away from the book he was trying to read in the fading daylight, and glanced down at the doctor half lying on his chest. 'I don't believe I am, but I find it oddly relaxing to have your weight on me.'

John grinned at the detective's deeply contemplative tone, as he stretched and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. Unfortunately, he hadn't woken up when Sherlock climbed back into bed with him and from the look out the window, it seemed to be getting close to twilight. What was wrong with him?! He knew he had been completely stressed out for weeks, by these 'not so brotherly' feelings he had been having for the other man, but he didn't know how much until now. Sherlock, who never seemed to be the most patient or understanding when it came to feelings, was doing such an amazing job that John didn't know how he was ever going to repay him.

John reached up and brushed his lips lightly against Sherlock's mouth, 'Thank you.'

'It was no trouble,' the detective misunderstood as he awkwardly patted John's back,'you kept me warm and so comfortable that I even slept a little. John, when you decide that you have had enough of me, I would still like to come sleep with you some nights.'

Startled, the doctor looked up just as Sherlock peered down at him.

'John?'

'And what if I decide I can never have enough of you?'

The detective looked a little blank at first before smiling like the proverbial cat with the canary. 'Ha! I always knew you had above average intelligence. I am a much better selection than all those silly little chits that you are always interfering with. Sometimes, I wonder how your brain does not shrivel up from sheer boredom when you talk to them. This is quite a good decision.'

Sherlock frowned and pulled back when John jumped, 'What?! Did I hurt you?'

'No, no...' the man laughed reassuringly, as he reached for Sherlock's hand and replaced it on his naked butt, 'I am still trying to get use to all of this. You keep that hand right there.'

The doctor smiled a bit vaguely as the detective gave his bottom an experimental pat.

It was very likely that Sherlock could carry on like this indefinitely, once the status quo of interesting cases continued unabated. It was all he really cared about, well that and some time set aside for a considerable amount of kissing. While John found Sherlock's detachment a bit unsettling, there were all types of friendships and relationships in the world; plenty of space for the two of them to find a spot where they could be comfortable. A great surge of hope rose in his chest.

Everything would be alright.

'You must be hungry,' the detective then unexpectedly declared, 'See? I remembered you need food. Can I have another kiss?'

'What I  _need_  is some clothes,' John frowned at him, 'this is the longest I've been naked since I have been a baby, I think. Where are my clothes?'

Absently, Sherlock ran his large hands over the doctor's muscular back causing John to shiver in pleasure, 'I do not understand. Why do you need clothes? It's just me and God in here, and we both know what you look like naked.'

John bit his lip. He really needed to use the bathroom now, but was feeling self conscious about getting up with Sherlock there watching. Silly yes, but he was knocking on forty and didn't have his solider's physique anymore. After all, it was one thing all together to being naked and being on the receiving end of a glorious hand job, and just being naked. Maybe he should just wait for the room to get dark.

'So why do you still have your clothes on?' John asked testily, still trying to figure out how to not be so obvious about his discomfort, fearing that Sherlock would kill himself laughing if he knew.

'Because I'm the one doing the chores, and the wash up, and answering the door bell,' Sherlock explained, 'Not that I am complaining, you really seem tired.'

The detective reached over and pulled his freshly laundered sleeping robe from the chair towards John, 'can you wear this? I enjoyed seeing you in it last night. Is that...not good? It's damned odd this. What a strange notion to have about ones clothes.'

John wriggled into the thick robe gratefully, thankful that the detective was distracted so he wouldn't notice how he turned his body away to tie the sash.

The doctor was just sauntering out of the bathroom after relieving himself and thinking of going down to the kitchen for some food, when he stopped short at the sight of a naked Sherlock, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

'Urghj,' John gurgled uncertainly, as he tried to make sense of this wonderful vision of male perfection.

Sherlock shook his head in exasperation, as he confidently climbed to his feet and walked forward. The doctor was reacting as if he had never seen him without his clothes before, which of course wasn't true. The detective could recount at least three occasions where he had been more or less unclothed infront of John, but admittedly that usually involved a case or some sort of injury.

'I don't understand why people get so excited about the human body,' the detective remarked as he unceremoniously whipped off the robe his flat mate was wearing, 'it's just transport.'

Sherlock looked him up and down. 'You're just fine, John. Your scar is truly ghastly. That must have hurt something awful but other than that, I see nothing to explain why you feel the need to cover yourself. You are not at all handsome in the classical sense, but your features, limbs and smile suit me completely and always have. Please stop fretting. It's extremely dull!'


	13. My love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a bit horrible for not posting regular updates. As soon as Christmas is over, things should calm down a bit. Today, you get a short comedic interlude. Hope everyone is having a good holiday season.

According to Sherlock, whoever wanted to wear clothing had to do the housework.

John snorted loudly at this but didn't really mind. He knew that the detective couldn't keep up this streak of homemaking for long, but it had been impossibly sweet of him to try and do good boyfriend stuff. In any case, John wanted to stretch his legs a bit and collect his thoughts. He had therefore picked up Sherlock's robe from off the chair where it had landed and put it on, preparing to go down and get them some dinner.

The doctor grinned stupidly as he walked down the stairs. Yeah, it may be stupid that a man his age would be embarrassed by his mid-life spread, but hell he couldn’t help feel a bit uncomfortable when compared to his new lover’s statuesque physique.

_'You're just fine, John.'_

_'You are not handsome, but your limbs and features suit me and always have.'_

John felt a lightness in his step. There was a truth that rang out in Sherlock's blunt observations which left little room for doubt.

He suited.

Life was grand.

As the doctor floated happily along to the kitchen, he took a moment to reflect on an additional layer of satisfaction, as he thought on how the new dynamics of their relationship was positively affecting Sherlock. The detective's self-esteem had soared through the roof, knowing that someone whose company he preferred to all others, found him intensely desirable and attractive in return. This deduction was based on the way Sherlock had been melodiously humming under his breath, as he happily curled around his book under the reading lamp, perfectly at ease with his nudity, of course.

Back in the kitchen however, John stopped dead at the mess on the dining room table.

With a soft cry of horror, the doctor ran forward, completely appalled that Sherlock was carrying out what looked like an experiment on Henry's costly furniture. For a moment he stood there to stunned to speak, as he stared down at all the colorful foil packets on the table and littering the floor. Finally, he dropped his head in his hands with a loud groan, unable to look anymore at Sherlock's 'condom testing station'.

Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to have a normal boyfriend.

Keeping his eyes firmly averted, John went into the kitchen and pulled out the food brought by their kindly neighbors; trying not to think about the look on some poor lady's face, when Sherlock had put all the different condom brands on the table to cash.

The doctor carefully gathered everything that could be used as finger foods; some crackers, almonds, cubes of mozzarella, cherry tomatoes and grapes. He then topped it all off by chopping a roast chicken breast and some baked ham, hoping that Sherlock could be at least be persuaded to take it from his hand, as he had done at breakfast.

'My love, you've been out today,' the doctor inquired rhetorically, as he walked back into the bedroom with a tray carrying the large plate and drink of cold tea.

'What did you just call me?' Sherlock looked up in surprise.

John's mind blanked.

He couldn't recall what he had just said, so intent was he on finding out what other mischief his flat mate may have perpetrated while he slept.

Cautiously, he sat on the bed just opposite, 'Sorry, I know you don't like pet names. It just slipped out.'

Sherlock took the tray that was offered, but continued to look at him impassively with a hint of worry in his eyes.

'Don't laugh,' John tried to prod him out of his strange mood, 'but I can't remember what I called you. I must be getting old.'

'Not old,' Sherlock corrected him softly, as he kissed him gently on the cheek, 'Brave...the bravest man that I know. But please remember to call me Sherlock in front of the other detectives at crime scenes, or it might undermine my authority.'

'Brave?' John repeated bemused, 'Sherlock,  _what_  name did I call you?'

The detective shook his head and busied himself on accepting the cracker and chicken that John held up for him.

'Are you sure you are alright?' John pressed again, reaching out to pull Sherlock and the tray into his lap in one smooth motion. The detective squeaked comically, as he threw both hands around the other’s man neck to balance himself.

‘Easy, I’ve got you,’ John said in suppressed amusement as his bed mate glared at him, as if promising to perpetuate unspeakable horrors on his person, if he dared comment on the squeaking.

'I did go out while you slept,’ he chose to say instead, wriggling around a bit to get comfortable, ‘From my research on the internet, I have discovered we don't have enough supplies for a quality sexual experience. John, are you fondling my ass?'

The doctor grinned, ‘yeah, I don’t think I can help myself. Your skin is so warm and soft. Should I stop?’

The detective seemed to consider it for a moment but then shook his head, ‘No, it’s fine, I find it relaxing. Carry on.’

With his free hand, John gently tapped Sherlock's closed lips with a tomato.

'But talking seriously for a moment, can I just make a comment about your approach?' he began softly as the detective chewed, 'I really appreciate all that you are doing and while the internet is good for many types of research; it is not good for this. I don't want you doing this anymore...we should talk; work out something that fits us. I am not an expert, but you can ask me your questions.'

'I think I would like that,' Sherlock surprisingly agreed without a fuss, 'for a topic that consumes a great deal of time, money and importance in people's lives, the available information is woefully contradictory. I even attempted to watch some porn, and I cannot imagine you speaking like that at all; not unless you were under the influence of strong narcotics.'

The detective patted John's hand, indicating he wanted more food and the doctor huffed with soft laughter. It would appear that the next time Sherlock didn't want to eat, all he had to do was hand feed him. John rolled his eyes in amusement as he popped an almond into the detective's mouth, somehow not surprised at all that his friend had an unusual food fetish.

'So, where did you go today?'

'I went to the pharmacy for condoms and lubricant, but there is such a staggering variety from what I remembered back in Uni! I asked the cashier what I should buy, and she said anything that would fit you and something that I would like.'

John smiled around the grape he was eating; his heart beating excitedly that Sherlock was considering penetration.

'I didn't know what I would like,' the man continued, 'so I purchased a variable selection, and then walked over to the bed and breakfast to ask for a second opinion.'

_Oh boy._

'Billy, looked over what I bought and he told me that some of the condoms could give you an allergic reaction! Did you know that? I have been testing them on myself to make certain.'

John gaped as Sherlock showed him the inside of his left arm, where small red patches were clearly visible; brought on by the chemicals and material used in some of the products.

'Could we just take a blood test and not bother with the condoms?' the detective pleaded, 'It seems like a whole lot of unnecessary fuss.'

The doctor gently kissed the angry red marks, 'you'll be singing a different tune when you have to do laundry every night, but the blood tests are a good idea in any case. Thanks for reminding me.'

'Billy also lent me this book,' Sherlock then added as he picked up the slim volume he had been reading, 'I wanted to buy it from him but it was an anniversary gift from Gary. We must be very careful with it. It has sentimental value.'

John's eyes widened in surprise, as for the first time he focused on the nondescript book that Sherlock had been so intent on. Quickly, the doctor flipped through the pages which contained detailed labelled diagrams and simple step by step instructions, before his eyes lingered for a long time on one page in particular.

'Can you read this title out loud for me?' John asked in a choked whisper.

'Certainly,' Sherlock replied a bit surprised, but obediently he brought the page closer to the light, 'position number five: recommended for a long, leisurely fuck.'

The doctor grabbed his cold ice tea and hastily drank a big gulp.

'John, are you alright?'

The small man shook his head, 'It's one of those things that is difficult to explain.'


	14. More than fine

Under intense interrogation, John finally confessed that he had always found the detective's baritone voice to be incredibly sexy. Sherlock had been so amused and insufferably smug, that the doctor ducked into the bathroom for a moment to escape.

'Jawnnnnnnnnnn!' Sherlock whined through the closed door, 'why are you mad? Are you going to be in there long? Don't you  _want_  to snog me senseless?'

The doctor smiled around his toothbrush. He wasn’t angry as much as mildly irritated. He had developed a thick skin over the months, living with his difficult to please flat mate.

'I think what you want to say, is that  _you_  want to snog me senseless,' John cried out cheekily, as he scrubbed at his molars.

'What difference does it make?!' the detective snapped crossly, as he jiggled the door knob. 'I let you have dinner and sleep all day, and now you go and take off in a snit. How is this fair?!'

For a moment, John eyed the reflection of the door in the bathroom mirror. The door wasn't locked, and Sherlock must realize that by now but yet he had not entered.

'John?' Sherlock repeated in a small, worried voice, 'is this normal?'

Hastily John rinsed his mouth and dried his face. The minute he was out of the bathroom, he was almost bowled over by an armful of warm Sherlock. Gently he caressed the side of the man's face, as the detective relentlessly steered him backwards to the bed, 'Yes, it is normal that when people now get together, they want to kiss all the time. Don't worry, it will simmer down a bit with time.'

When the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, John promptly fell over and then snorted with laughter as Sherlock climbed on top of him, and proceeded to demonstrate all the great kissing John missed out on while he was asleep.

'You didn't perhaps buy me any chap stick while you were out?' the doctor asked breathlessly, appreciatively running his hands over Sherlock lean, muscular backside, when the man finally let him up for some fresh air.

The detective smiled down at John, who lay satisfyingly sprawled on the bed beneath him.

'Thank you for letting me do this,' Sherlock replied, 'Your kissing is quite good.'

'My kissing?' John protested with a weak splutter, trying to keep his mind on the conversation and not on how his lizard brain was begging him to pull Sherlock down on top of him and rut against his bony hip, 'this is all on you. All the kissing is now officially your department, and you can wake me up anytime you want to snog me senseless.'

'I didn't get you any chap stick,' Sherlock remarked with a slow devious smile, as he pinned the doctor's two hands above his head before he leaned over and whispered throatily in his ear, 'I will buy you some tomorrow.'

John bit his lip in pure frustration, as his erection twitched and throbbed helplessly under the sleeping robe. 'Jesus! You're killing me here! Don't do that!

But Sherlock didn't stop...he murmured all sorts of things...the whispers caressing; ghosting across the super sensitive skin under John's neck. Not words of seduction like the lovers he had in the past; but chemical formulas, mathematical equations and something that sounded curiously a little like Arabic, all interspersed between teasing kisses and shallow bites. John groaned as both his mind and body became inflamed by the sound of the man's deep voice.

'I have some messages for you,' the detective murmured as he energetically nibbled a path down the open part of the dressing gown.

'Anything that sounds like a life or death emergency?'

Sherlock ran them through his head, 'No.'

'Good, because there is something I want to try,' John remarked, appraising Sherlock's half swollen penis that bobbed enticingly between them, 'Why don't you lay on your back for me?'

'Thank you,' the younger man murmured as the doctor fluffed up a pillow for him to lay on.

Only belatedly did the doctor realise he had been staring, as Sherlock craned his neck to look down at his genitals, 'is something wrong? They have always been adequate for my needs.'

John rocked back on his heels, smiling in apology. When Sherlock tucked one arm under his head, he couldn’t help but be distracted by Sherlock’s maleness.

From the moment he first realised how attracted he was to Sherlock, John had been lost. He had no close friends to confide in, and no brothers or cousins to consult. In desperation, he had turned to the internet and there had been some eye opening discussions there about sexual identity. The common theme though was to be honest and accepting as he explored. So sure, he had seen Sherlock naked many times, but this was the first time John had stopped to look his full, not as a doctor but as a lover.

Sherlock didn’t have the body type of what the doctor was accustomed to at all. He had miles and miles of pale skin, stretched on an angular frame of lean muscle. He wasn’t soft anywhere, his pectorals were flat, and he had startling contrasts of thick coarse hair in his armpits and groin. And for all of that, John couldn’t remember ever being with someone so attractive.

‘Nothing’s wrong, Sherlock, I am just… admiring the view.’

‘The what?!’

Sherlock shot him a quizzically look, rolling his eyes in exasperation as the doctor bestowed one of his annoying clownish grins on him, ‘John, I don’t want to try position 5 this evening, but I do want to have a turn at orgasm.’

The other man raised one amused eyebrow as Sherlock’s chest, neck and face turned a becoming shade of red.

The detective groaned miserably as he noted his rosy hue. ‘I know all the chemicals being released here is natural and relevant to this situation, but it is incredibly embarrassing. I am _not_ a teenager, for godsake!’

John turned his head to hide his grin as Sherlock scrubbed uselessly at his chest with one hand, trying to rid himself of his reddened skin. Patiently, he waited for his new lover to look at him again.

'What do I do now?' Sherlock prodded as no sexual instruction seemed forthcoming. John leaned over to lavish his bed mate with a slow, decadent kiss that made the other man moan in pleasure.

John was extremely pleased that Sherlock was sharing his wants and do not wants with him. He was moments away from saying it out loud but decided to show him instead. Sherlock’s eyes were bright when happiness, when John finally rocked back on his heels. The doctor raised a regretful finger though, sorry that he had to break the mood. The detective had blindsided him with his sudden request and they still need to talk. Predictably, Sherlock scowled horribly at the delay.

‘I have a request to negotiate,’ John insisted, gently massaging one of the man’s knees.

The detective looked worried now, and before Sherlock could work himself into an unnecessary state of agitation, John plunged right in.

‘I would love to make you orgasm, in any way you choose,’ he reassured him in a firm tone of voice, ‘do you want me to rub you or do you want to try something from the book?’

‘Rub me!’ Sherlock exclaimed excitedly, spreading open his knees clearly enthusiastic about the agenda currently being tabled. 

‘But…’

‘But what, JOHN?! Can this wait?’ Sherlock whined in desperation, raising his hips to demonstrate that there was urgent need to address the situation with action not words. His penis bobbed wildly, as if adding its approval of less talking more doing.

‘But no mind palace,’ John ploughed ahead determinedly.

This got Sherlock’s attention, more so because he didn’t understand the context of the request.

‘You have to stay with me,’ John demanded in response to his questioning look, ‘no mental wanderings. If you suddenly change your mind about being with me, just push against my hand. Don’t shut down again, like you did last night. I promise...’

The detective massaged John’s arm awkwardly as the doctor’s voice broke. Silently, he waited as the other man took deep breaths trying to calm himself. In the meantime, Sherlock grimaced as his cock softened, distracted by the obvious pain he had caused John. It was not John per se he had been trying to escape last night, but he didn’t know how to explain it to himself, far less to another person.

‘No mind palace then. Any other requests?’ Sherlock acquiesced in a quiet voice, as John covered his face with one hand.  The doctor shook his head, smiling quietly now in appreciation for his bed mate’s understanding.

‘Well…perhaps we can try again a bit later for that orgasm,’ Sherlock stated sadly as he stared woefully at his diminished erection.

‘I would try again now. Put both of your arms over your head, palms up and leave it there,’ John ordered in such a causal way, that it sent an immediate shiver of arousal through Sherlock’s belly.

Trembling slightly with nerves and excitement, he raised his long arms and rested it on the pillow above.

‘Very nice,’ John rumbled approvingly before confidently surging forward to capture his limp penis with one hand, and seal his lips with another decadent kiss. Sherlock jumped in surprised but then trustingly melted into the mattress, delighting in the way John’s hand tightened steadily around his cock.

_Oh God._

Glorious sensation pooled out from his groin, not in a slow spiral but in a flood of heat and want.

_Jesus fucking Christ!_

_More! More!_

A fleeting moment of panic shot across his cranium as John suddenly lay flat on top of him forcing his legs even further apart, but such concerns drifted away into nothingness under the onslaught of the doctor’s deep, drugging kisses. He was safe here. He was safe in this bed with his best friend in all the world.

‘We should have done this sooner,’ Sherlock gasped as he turned his head, breaking the kiss to get some much needed air.

‘Oh really?’ John remarked in amusement, ‘when would we have done that, Mr-I-am-married-to-my work?’

Naturally, Sherlock opened his mouth to protest.

‘Oye!’ John cut him off, ‘I am using those lips at the moment, ok? You can complain later.’

The detective still managed a token glare, before the doctor laughingly leaned forward to capture his lips again. There was something wild about being held open and in place, and as Sherlock stretched luxuriously under John’s weight, he delighted in the unexpectedly delicious feeling of being manhandled so thoroughly.

Five minutes later, he was half way sitting up while John went to quickly lay some more wood on the fire in their bedroom, and get the bag of lubricants that he purchased from the store.

‘Look at it, John!’ he crowed proudly, marvelling at his beautiful erection, ‘I’m almost fully aroused. You are an amazing kisser!’

For a moment, the doctor had the insane and funny notion, that Sherlock was going to lean over and slap a gold star on his forehead.

‘Thanks,’ John replied in a self-deprecating tone as he placed the lubricants in a row on the bedtable.

Sherlock glanced between the small sample bottles, trying to make a selection.

'Coconut scented,' he finally decided. The doctor warmed the lotion in his hands before gently slicking up Sherlock's cock.

'This may take a while,' Sherlock warned, looking slightly stricken at his sexually inadequacies.

John shrugged indifferently as though it didn't matter and as the doctor lay down on his side and opened his arms, Sherlock scooted back.

It did take a while, but John enjoyed every minute as Sherlock slowly came apart right before his very eyes. Yes, it was heavenly having Sherlock’s pert backside pressed against his groin, but his own arousal was almost like an afterthought. It had been an amazing, heart pounding thing to witness Sherlock chase and take his pleasure without embarrassment or restraint.

'John?'

'I'm right here,' he murmured softly, as he concentrated on keeping up a steady pace, using his two hands to fully encompass Sherlock’s length and balls, 'you are doing so beautifully, love. It's alright, relax into me.’

'John?' Sherlock wailed mindlessly, as he felt his sacs tighten under his lover’s expert ministrations, 'I’m there… but I can't. I want to come!'

'Look at me,' John commanded in his best military voice and immediately Sherlock's eyes sprung open as he turned his head around.

'Do you trust me, Sherlock?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure? I want you to take a moment and think about it.'

'John, you are the _only_ one I trust.'

'Then trust me now,' the doctor insisted, 'Let go and come for me, my love. That's it. Come for me; nothing bad is going to happen. I am right here with you. Come now!'

And in the next moment, Sherlock's jaw dropped and his back bowed, as he rode out his much sought after release in a soundless scream of pleasure.

John gathered his new lover tighter in his strong arms. His heart was thundering in his chest and in his ears, at the uninhibited way Sherlock kept his eyes open and fixed on his face, even as he thrust forward and emptied himself in deep, undulating pulses. John hadn’t seen so much ejaculate since he was a teenager. It was messy, hot and so fuckingly erotic that he revelled in slowly pumping Sherlock’s slippery cock, till he was done.

Finally, the younger man closed his eyes and rested. When the detective came to himself again, John was gently stroking his hair.

‘If you need your mind palace, go ahead. I am okay here.’

'You are not to move!' Sherlock grumbled against the man's skin, 'I have some data to catalogue.’

'Sure, do you want some water?'

'No. I am fine, more than fine,’ he panted softly, ‘Thank you, John.'

 

 


	15. a reciprocal expression of feelings

'Did I doze off?' Sherlock suddenly asked; his face still buried in the crook of John's neck.

The doctor smiled wistfully up at the ceiling, as he stopped his gentle stroking of Sherlock's hair. He wished he had a memory palace feature so he could store away the last hour as Sherlock rested in his arms, the press of his bare skin warm against his. His room-mate was always a bundle of nervous energy, even while he slept so the way Sherlock had lain so still and quiet had been wonderful. John didn't even mind the fact that Sherlock's ejaculate on his leg was starting to itch as it dried. It was a minor discomfort to the mental nirvana of a motionless and silent consulting detective.

'I seemed to have lost time,' Sherlock added as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, and looked down at the man in the bed.

'I think you did sleep a little,' John answered distractedly as his body mourned the absence of Sherlock's weight on him.

_God, I have it bad._

'Goodness,' Sherlock muttered vaguely as he looked around the room, ‘gay intercourse is certainly a messy business.’

John snorted with laughter. Who said stuff like that after sex?

‘This can’t be a surprise. I thought you said you masturbated before.’

‘I have but in the shower, obviously’ Sherlock graced him with a withering look of scorn, ‘I think we will have to get the bed clothes professionally cleaned, if we continue you like this.’

‘The duvet got the worse of it but perhaps we should buy Henry a new set of bed sheets entirely,’ John countered with a distracted smile, as he pulled the younger man back to him. Obediently Sherlock lay down, propping up his head with one hand.

'Can I ask you something?' John asked, groaning as the planes of their bodies softly settled into each other, which resulted in Sherlock's thigh being wedged between his spread legs.

'It depends.'

'On what?' John asked automatically, absently stroking the angular planes of the man’s back.

Sherlock seemed to think about for a moment and then shook his head, 'Not important. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. What were you going to ask?'

John frowned of course, extremely wary whenever he believed that Sherlock was hiding something, 'I want to hear more about this bridge, for now.'

'I meant that metaphorically.'

'Haha...don't be cute,' the doctor chided him with a playful squeeze, 'If we are going to try and have a relationship, then you cannot keep things from me.'

Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow, 'hmm...I seemed to have missed some of the fine print in my haste to get naked.'

John kept his face stern, concerned by this “playful’ evasion.

'Fine, fine. If you have something _exciting_ to barter with, John, I will consider it.'

'What do you mean?'

'What I mean, is that you want to know what I am thinking,' Sherlock patiently explained, 'If you want to know, then you have to trade me something for it.'

'If you tell me what you are thinking, I will tell you what I am thinking,’ John blurted out with a somewhat bewildered expression on his face.

Sherlock looked down at him incredulously, 'You can't be serious.'

'So you aren't curious to know what I am thinking?'

'Are you being deliberately dense? You don't have to  _tell_  me what you are thinking. You are very transparent, John, and you know I can I easily deduce you if I wished.'

John groaned and covered his face with one hand. 'Why do I even bother? Alright, forget that for the while. I just want to know, how things are going for you. Are you alright with me...with us?'

'Perfectly content,' Sherlock replied without any apparent reservation, much to John's relief. 'All evidence seems to indicate that my body responds well to you and that I am capable of maintaining an erection for a considerable period of time. My orgasm was spectacular and I enjoyed it very much. I appreciated your assistance at the end bit.'

The end bit?

John resisted the mad urge to giggle again. 'You are welcome, but you don’t have to thank me. Remember I told you that before.’

The other man hummed distractedly in reply.

‘But was there anything I did wrong or you would like done differently?' John added quickly, while the man seemed to be in a chatty mood.

'Nothing comes to mind but I have never had an orgasm with someone before,' Sherlock confessed, 'I would very much like to have another. Can we try frotting? We can orgasm together! Doesn’t that sound splendid? Look, look it's here in the book!'

Sherlock enthusiastically flipped to the right page, and held it up for a stunned John to see.

'What's wrong now?!' he snapped, wondering why the doctor seemed so up and down this evening.

'You are enjoying the sex?'

'We have not done a lot judging from all the positions described here. I need more data.'

Sherlock glanced sharply at John's lost and doubtful expression.

 _Oh_.

Unhappy and a bit annoyed, Sherlock heaved himself off his bed mate, 'you don't want to experiment any more. That's fine, I suppose.'

'Sherlock!'

The detective stopped but didn't turn around as he pulled on the dressing gown they were sharing.

'God damn it,' John muttered as he sat up rather stiffly having been laying in one position for so long, 'Of course I want to experiment with you. I want to do everything in the book but I am still...'

Helplessly, John looked about him seeking inspiration.

'You're what?!' Sherlock snarled unhelpfully as whirled around, appearing to have taken John's hesitance personally.

'I am still trying to get use to all of this,' John answered calmly, knowing his friend well enough not to be put off by his shouting. However, without meaning to, John had unconsciously gestured at Sherlock pelvis, causing the detective to open his dark blue gown and look down.

'You can shave me if that will make you more comfortable,' the detective offered generously. 'I suppose all of this is very off putting to someone who's been loudly protesting that they were straight for such a long time.'

'Sherlock, no,' John said quickly as he held out a hand which the other man accepted immediately. As the detective sat back down, John pulled him forward until their foreheads were just touching.

'John?'

'Shh...'

Sherlock's breath hitched as John reached between them and delicately cradled his cock in his palm.

'This is fine, Sherlock,' John murmured as he caressed enough to arouse but not ignite, 'more than fine. I love it and I am so thrilled that you respond so wonderfully when I touch you. I am enjoying sharing this bed with you very, very much.’

'Then what?' Sherlock gasped quietly as he fought to keep his hard drive online and in the conversation. Was John doing this deliberately to distract him? Though, it would be lovely if they could stay like this for the rest of the night. This soft, quiet intimacy was unexpectedly lovely too; quite lovely.

The doctor pulled back and their eyes locked, 'You're not some bloke I met in a party and if it doesn't work out, it would be business as usual. This is you and me...this is my whole life. This is important and I need to do things slowly and carefully. Do you understand?'

Sherlock gently canted his hips forward a few millimetres, hissing as John's callouses slid tantalizingly over his penis, 'and you don't… and you don’t think that I feel the same way? John, sometimes I wonder if you know me at all.'

He traced the small changes in John's face, as the doctor looked past his scornful reply and comprehended what he was saying. For Sherlock, it wasn't some huge revelation. He knew John cared for him and what part of Sherlock that was capable of such "emotion", cared for John too. John was such a fixture in his life, that it would be a severe blow to his mental stability if something was to happen to the doctor. Should he say that out loud? The internet article on how to be good boyfriend, recommended a reciprocal expression of feelings.

Feelings?

Gah!

Good god, maybe not.

He was not good at this sort of thing. Actually, he was horrible at it according to the general public.

'You feel the same way?' John repeated the words tentatively.

'It would be a severe blow to my mental stability if something was to happen to you,' Sherlock tried experimentally.

John's whole face creased into a huge smile.

_Hurrah! That was easy. I am pretty good at this!_

Unexpectedly, John pushed him on his back and grabbed the tube of lubricant with his free hand. Sherlock hissed again, as he raised his head to watch the man drizzle a generous amount of the coconut scented fluid over his penis.

'Fuck into my hand, like you did before,' John pleaded in a low voice, as his pupils darkened.

_Hmm...this was John's idea of taking it slowly? Oh shut up! Are you really complaining? Shut up, I say!_

Sherlock closed his eyes, threw his head back and rocked forward, and then again, and then again.

'Oh god, oh god,' John kept moaning as he watched Sherlock's lean body, undulate in a sinuous rhythm that made the inside of his mouth turn to dust.

'Stop talking!' Sherlock shouted rudely, as his entire world narrowed to the wonderful tingling in his groin, ‘you’re distracting me!'

With a small evil laugh John pulled away his hand, and the detective's eyes flew open in shock.

'John!' he yelped, 'What? I am not finished!' Upset he scrambled up, ready to do anything to get his bed mate to play nicely.

However, John's hands were currently busy as he slicked himself with the rest of the lubricant. Sherlock's mouth opened with a silent O of surprise as John then pounced on him, again laying him flat on his back. 'Goodness Doctor Watson, you are horny tonight, aren't you?'

John barked with laughter, feeling so free and uninhibited in a way he hadn't experienced for a long time, 'you started it! God, you looked so hot, using my hand to get off! We'll go slow tomorrow, I promise.'

With much laughter and strangled gasps as overly sensitive parts collided and brushed, they soon found a speed and angle that worked for them.

Soon though, Sherlock began to giggle like a moron, 'John, should the mattress springs be making that noise? It’s creaking in a most alarmingly manner. What if we break the bed?'

'Don't worry, it will hold!' John insisted as he grinned and kissed Sherlock's mouth generously, while he ground his erection deeply into the man below him. 'It damned well better hold!'

Like Sherlock had done earlier that night, John threaded his fingers through his friend's and gently pinned both his arms over his head.

John's heart ached as he looked down at the uncharacteristically vulnerable position, the detective submitted himself to. The dark haired man had closed his eyes, and turned his head down and away, lips parted slightly to accommodate his laboured breathing as he savored the unfamiliar sensations of being intimately touched in this manner. John knew there was unpleasantness in Sherlock’s sexual past, judging by their earlier conversation. The way Sherlock was placing his trust in him now by offering his body, made John's breath seize in his chest.

He couldn’t fail his friend.

It wasn’t an option.

Eventually, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and turned his head, as if he sensed the other man intently observing him.

'Jo…hn? What?'

'I am here. Fuck, Sherlock, your body feels incredible. You okay? Do you want to stop for a bit?'

The detective licked his suddenly dry lips as he defiantly shook his head, clearly not up to a detailed response.

‘More John,’ he pleaded in a broken, desperate voice,‘more.’

'Harder or faster?!'

Sherlock could only nod frantically. Harder, faster sounded brilliant.

He sucked in a shocked breath, as the doctor swept a strong arm under one thigh, and effortlessly hiked it up on his good shoulder.

_Holy Mary, this wasn’t happening._

The detective gripped John’s waist with the other leg and held on for dear life as he lay open, helpless to reposition himself against John’s punishing thrusts, even if he wanted to.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ the doctor noted smugly, as the detective’s eyes glazed over with lust, ‘Darling, don’t forget to breathe now.’

‘Oh shut up,’ Sherlock snapped affectionately in response to his bed mate’s teasing, straining his torso upwards to kiss him. He groaned as John readily complied, nudging him back to rest on the pillow.

_This was everything._

He was toasty warm on a beautiful, comfortable bed; John’s agile tongue was filling his mouth, John’s fingers were intertwined tightly in his, John’s solid compact, torso was pressing hard on his chest and oh, how could he forget, his cock was being pleasured within an inch of its life.

‘John, this is so good,’ Sherlock suddenly began babbling at top speed, 'It is so very good. Why is it good? I’m gonna come. Oh god, I want to wait for you. Should I wait for you? I should...oh god …'

Sherlock thrust violently upwards as another stunning climax crested over him, 'JOHN!'

The doctor buried his face in Sherlock's neck, as moments later his body responded to the man's call.

'Bloody hell,' the detective sputtered out quietly when John finally rolled off of him, 'this is quite good fun!'

 


	16. Occupied

'Jawnnnnnn!'

The doctor rolled his eyes as he hurriedly grabbed an expensive looking jar of bath salts from off the shelf, 'Coming, Sherlock! Just hang on, I am filling the tub.'

A pitiful moan floated through the open door, as Sherlock sat up in bed, ‘I don’t feel right.’

John fought back a laugh, wondering if the other man was in that much pain or making a play for some petting, as he was sometimes wont to do. The detective had crashed completely after their second round last night. John had been no better, only making a half-hearted attempt to clean them with warm washrags before wrapping himself like a vine around his friend. They both slept like the dead until daybreak when unfortunately, the morning sun slapped them both hard in the face, because they forgot to get the curtains the night before.

'Completely normal to feel sore, Sherl,' John called back cheerfully, trying to keep us his patient’s spirits, ‘You have been using your muscles in strange positions. This hot bath will put you to right.'

Sherlock gave him a doubtful look as the man walked back into the room, but accepted his help to climb to his feet, 'Why are you so sprightly this morning?'

If it was anyone else, John would have changed the subject immediately or made a joke, but this was Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective.

'Because…,' he answered tentatively, 'I have been involved in a number of past relationships. My body is accustomed to err…'

'Pounding?' Sherlock suggested absently, and the other man breathed out a quiet sigh of relief at this nonchalant response.

_Thank you God, for small mercies._

'But we didn't even do much!' the detective protested petulantly, 'Am I out of shape? You are not harboring secret thoughts of putting me out to pasture and finding someone more fit, are you?'

'It has nothing to do with being in shape. What activity do you do on a day to basis, that calls for you to open your legs like that, for such an extended stretch of time?' John tried to reason with him in a soothing voice.

Carefully, the tall man stepped into the water and lowered himself using the doctor's strong arm.

'That's very good,' Sherlock murmured as John then angled a washrag under his head so he could rest comfortably in the tub, 'Massage me?'

John shook his head ruefully, but knelt down on the floor behind the man, and obediently reached in to massage Sherlock's shoulders, more relieved than he cared to admit that his flat mate wasn't being all petty and jealous, as a new lover might be about their partner's past sexual exploits.

Instead, the detective groaned blissfully as he relaxed into the man's touch. 'I think I love you, John.'

Startled, the doctor gawked stupidly down at the man’s inky black hair but then snorted quietly. It had been a slip of the tongue, not a formal announcement which at this junction would have been just odd.

They relaxed in the quiet for the while, letting the soothing smells of wood and eucalyptus scented steam wash over them.

John had drawn baths before but strictly in his role as a doctor, tending to a worse for wear consulting detective. This Sherlock realised, was something else entirely. It was giving him an endorphin high that made him feel as though he was floating.

‘So…’

Sherlock eventually cracked open one eye, as a tense silence grew between them.

‘Yes, John?’ he added in an exasperating breath, wondering what worry wart Watson was thinking now.

‘…about this metaphorically bridge you were talking about last night…’

He shook his head, ‘I am not ready to discuss this right now, I already said that!’

‘Sherlock, please.’

‘You are not going to leave this alone, are you?’

‘Nope…’ John stubbornly replied, popping the ‘p’ at the end making Sherlock reluctantly grin, ‘not if it has to do with you and me and sex.’

The detective growled in his throat, wishing the doctor would just be quiet so he could go back to enjoying the royal spa treatment. Evidently it was not to be, as he felt John stare down at the top of his head.

‘I was considering the mechanics of advanced sex theory again as you so quaintly put it, John, but clearly we are not going to get to that anytime soon, are we?’ Sherlock sighed with a put out expression, ‘but I concede that you perhaps know what you are doing. Just look at what you’ve done to my thighs. I feel like a wreck.’

‘Just relax, Sherlock. I am sorry that you are so sore.'

‘Are you laughing at me?!' was the somewhat terse query.

John reached around to softly kiss Sherlock's mouth, mentally reeling at how easy and normal these affectionate gestures were becoming. 'No, I am not. My first time, I was a bit sore in some really odd places too.'

'And when was this?'

John raked his memory unsuccessfully for a moment, 'right after my A'level results came out. Blast, I can't remember her name.'

Sherlock's lips curled up into an evil grin, 'You are such a slag, John.'

'It's _not_  funny,' the other man complained, 'it just means that it meant nothing to me.'

After a moment, Sherlock tilted his head back to contemplate his flatmate turned lover, 'I trust you won't forget me so easily. I am not one given to mushy sentiments, but you being with me could be categorized as a first for you.'

'I could never forget,' John reassured him, as Sherlock continued to stare at him emotionless. 'I promise.'

The detective quickly redirected his gaze, 'Don't promise. Our friendship is beyond such boring things.'

There was a hint of something sad in Sherlock's voice as he said that, and John speculated on where (or who?) his friend's mind had wandered. Was he thinking of Irene? That whole fiasco had derailed their detective practice for months, with Sherlock becoming quiet and withdrawn, volunteering himself out for risky overseas assignments on behalf of any alphabet agency that needed a man. Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to have come back from all that, only to find that his home life had dramatically changed, with a sexually confused and frustrated flat mate, moping around the corners at all hours of the day and night.

'Sherlock?'

'Hmm...'

He smiled as John leaned forward to press his face against his neck, and enfold him warmly in his strong arms.

'This is nice,' the detective remarked curiously, ruffling the blonde hair before carefully smoothing the strands back into place.

'You're nice.'

'I am not!' came the somewhat annoyed response.

'You are.'

'Am NOT!'

'You are, you are, you are!' John sang lightly, causing them to both dissolve into quiet chuckles at such foolishness.

'John, you really are the most absurd man I have ever met.'

'Sherlock?'

'hmmm...'

'The important stuff hasn't changed,' John replied in a muffled voice, 'I am your work partner, 24-7; day in, day out, and very glad to be so employed.'

The detective snorted faintly, but nevertheless was pleased by this rather formal declaration of loyalty. He turned his head to pillow his cheek on John's soft hair and his reply was so quiet and wistful, that the doctor almost missed it.

'And I am glad to be on vacation with you too,' John whispered back. Abruptly, Sherlock coughed and fidgeted, as if regretting how sentimental the conversation had become, 'Come into the tub with me.'

'Oh no,' John laughed heartily as he kissed the man's shoulder and then his neck before backing away, 'you know I can't keep my hands off you'.

Sherlock's grin was almost wider than his face. He was thrilled and still a bit astounded at the adoration in John's voice.

'You know you want to,' the detective wheedled persuasively, leaning back and sliding out his tongue to wetly swipe it in one broad stroke, across John's surprised mouth.

'Stop that, you bad man!' the doctor replied with mock sternness, 'Let me make you some coffee. Stay here and I will bring it up.'

'That would be agreeable.'

'You want to try something new after breakfast?' John murmured excitedly in the man's ear, 'only if you are up to it, of course. You wouldn't have to do anything. I will do it all, and you can bark out directions as much as you like.'

'Something new?'

John could feel his face getting suddenly hot, overcome by the surge of desire that he never expected to feel for someone of his gender.

‘Let me suck your cock, Sherlock.'

The detective rose out of the water like a beached whale and would have happily dragged the doctor back down with him, if the doorbell hadn't rung.

'FUCK!' the detective shouted at the top of lungs, and John stared in some surprise. It was very rare for the man to resort to obscenities under any circumstances.

'GO AWAY!' the young man yelled towards the open window, 'the doctor is occupied!'

John was able to extricate himself from the other's tenacious grasp with a breathless snort of laughter.

'Sherlock, behave. We have company,’ he hissed, trying to clear his mind from the rather picturesque vision of water cascading off his friend’s pale muscular frame, complete with a mouth-watering erection, rising against his flat stomach.

'Dammit,' the detective murmured as his flat mate walked away from clutching range, 'it's probably your messages from yesterday.'

'What was that?! I have messages?'

Sherlock sunk down into the fragrant, hot water and contemplated his bony knees with a sigh of resignation. John would be extremely put out if he did something to sabotage his visit with the village doctor, who had come by yesterday requesting a consultation with his medical colleague on some matter or the other.

'How can you leave me in pain?' Sherlock whined with a fake look of agonized suffering on his face, in an attempt to keep John with him. Uncertainly, the doctor stopped in the process of shrugging on his flatmate's dressing gown, and bending low he gave the man a wonderful kiss with plenty tongue. 'Let's ignore them.'

Naturally, Sherlock took a moment to smugly savour that wonderful feeling he always got, whenever John would choose his company over others.

'No, you can't, John. It is most likely the doctor who came by yesterday,' the man replied, dropping the pretence. Contrary to popular belief, he was not a psychopath and would not knowingly jeopardize the health of anyone, but it was not like he was going to pretend to be all happy to share John's time and energy.

As expected, the doctor’s head shot up in concern, 'is someone in trouble? Why didn't you wake me?!'

Sherlock smiled fondly as John's eyes glazed over, no doubt fretting that he didn't even have his stethoscope. 'Not immediately from what I understand, but he wants your advice.'

Hastily John dashed off, but at the door of the bedroom he seemed to collect himself, 'Sherlock?'

'It's fine,' the detective reassured him with a nod and a regal wave, 'go, but just know that you have to play any game that I want, when you get back. You have been warned.'

 


	17. Domestic bliss?

Excitedly, John picked up the next ultrasound in the stack and tilted it to get the best capture of light.

To non-medical persons, the x-ray was a just a blur of unappealing white, grey and black blobs, but one would think it held the answer to the mystery of the universe, judging from the way John and the village doctor happily poured over it.

'I'm not sure,' John said as he finally began his diagnosis, but the two men were distracted by another mystery of the universe, rumbling darkly on the upper floor.

Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

The angry thunder cloud soon resolved itself into the shape of a fully dressed Sherlock, noisily descending, aggravation evident in every line of his body. John sucked in a resigned breath as he hurried to the now cold coffee pot and switched it on, wondering desperately how he could stop his lover from making a scene, which seemed inevitable.

_my lover._

The unspoken sentiment was enough to wipe away John's worry and put a big old stupid grin on his face. With a quiet sigh of contentment, the doctor turned around to look up the staircase.

'Sherl, I'm sorry about the coffee,' John apologised absently, unable to school his face into one of true contrition as his eyes raked over his stylish friend, in his impeccably fitted dark trousers and crisp white shirt. Events of the last day has made him realise that Sherlock was one of those people who looked good, with or without their clothes. In other words, the consulting detective was completely delicious. 'I will make you a fresh cup, why don't you take a seat.'

Sherlock smiled smugly at John's heated expression, feeling immediately assuaged for being so “heartlessly” abandoned in the bathtub. The doctor’s sensual reactions to his transport was one of the best parts of their arrangement. He was always pleased to have his flatmate's company of course, but who knew that John could be this exciting!

'Sit down, John,' he said gently, as he happily bounced over to preside over the bubbling pot. 'I am not completely incapable in the kitchen as I have lead you to believe.'

With a nervous cough, the visiting physician rose to his feet, 'Good morning, Mr. Holmes.'

Sherlock turned on him in a flash and scowled with a nasty expression. Pointing accusingly at the stack of medical folder he then sneered, 'you said one case, Peterson!'

Their guest looked sheepish, 'My apologies. I got carried away when I discovered that John has surgery experience.'

'Your apology is  _not_  accepted,' Sherlock snapped frostily, 'you've ruined our morning plans!'

'Sherlock!' his flat mate cut in before any sharper recriminations or more explicit details escaped his lips, 'Why don't you take your coffee out on the porch?'

The detective growled under his breath, but brightened when he saw his doctor put the entire bowl of sugar cubes on a breakfast tray. John was much too good to him.

'Let me just say goodbye here to Dr. Peterson.'

He felt a flush of pleasure right down to his toes, when Sherlock reached over and put his fingers under his chin to angle his head up. 'Don't keep me waiting again,' the detective requested softly, as he brushed his lips warmly against his like if they did every day.

'I won't', the doctor stammered out stupidly. ''Th...thanks'

'You're thanking me for kissing you?' Sherlock inquired with an impish grin as he picked up the tray, the coffee pot and a newspaper as he headed out the door.

'Sorry about that,' John apologized to their guest after his brain had re-aligned itself; realising that the detective had done that on purpose. He smiled as he cast a fond eye over Sherlock who was now seated just outside the large picture window, darkly glaring at Peterson as though as he was a complete waste of space, 'he's not a errr...morning person.'

'Oh, you forget I met him last night. I think I got off easy.' Peterson smiled affably as he packed away his files and photos. 'Perhaps when you get some time, you can come down to my house.'

John sighed before he turned his back on Sherlock.

'Actually, I was going to look you up today on a personal matter.'

The man nodded politely as John fidgeted.

_'Oh don't be such a child, he's just saw us kiss.'_

Still, John felt his face flush, when he asked the other man if he would draw their blood and send it to a lab to test for the usual suspects.

'Certainly. Now or would you like to breakfast first?' the physician asked, as he checked his bag for supplies.

John sat and pushed up the sleeve of the dressing gown to expose his arm, relieved at the man's professionalism and courtesy. He would have enough "unprofessionalism" to deal with when they returned to Baker street. His mind then naturally drifted off as he thought of London and their life there.

Unconsciously, he began running through the short mental list of those he wanted to know about him and Sherlock, now that he realised that his (mental choke) boyfriend wasn't averse to PDA. Even if Sherlock never chose to kiss him in public again, John didn't want to keep it a secret as though he was ashamed. He cared for this man, and Sherlock; a brilliant, wonderful person, cared for him in return.

John definitely wanted his mum to know from him, before she saw it in the papers or heard it from some gossipy neighbor. Mrs. Watson wasn't going to be happy, only because the dream of actual grandkids was slipping away from her. Her disappointment would be most keen.

_Mrs. Hudson?_

John smiled faintly. It would probably confuse their not-landlady if they said anything now; so firm was her belief that they were a couple from day one. Best just let that be.

_Harriet?_

John rolled his eyes in his head, just anticipating the raucous unsupportive laughter that would come from her. Whatever. He didn't care.

Well that was his list.

He then shifted over to Sherlock's side; knowing that the other man didn't really care a fig who knew, and wouldn't be bothered to let anyone know.

_Mycroft?_

Most likely he already knew in that extraordinary/weird way the Holmes brothers exhibited.

Unconsciously, his fingers started tapping on the table top. 

The country doctor stared wonderingly at the spasm of pain on his patient's face as he capped and labelled the vial. 'John, that should not have hurt. Are you alright?'

He looked up, 'Yes. I...sorry. Was worrying about someone... at home.'

He made a deliberate effort to stop his nervous tapping as he balled his hand in a tight fist.

'Let's go out to Sherlock to do the blood draw.'

'As you wish, but perhaps I should wait here while you do it,' the physician remarked with a small smile as he handed over some gloves and the necessary items.

Puzzled John looked over his shoulder, and was surprised to see an empty garden and a lonely newspaper, blowing in the wind.

'Perhaps he is afraid of needles?' their doctor suggested kindly.

'No, he isn't,' John replied incredulously, 'This was actually his idea.'

John took the medical items and tucked them into his pocket as he walked to the door. He peeked out scanning the general area, 'Sherlock?'

Gingerly he stepped out, only to wince as his bare foot connected with the cold tile outside. Spying a pair of garden boots in the corner, the doctor shrugged pragmatically, and drew them on.

After walking twice all around the main house, John was even more confused. There were a number of outbuildings that were part of the estate, but why would the man just wander off like that? As far as he knew, they didn't have a case. It was like aliens had suddenly beamed his mate out of the mansion grounds; which of course only happened in science fiction. John clutched his gown closed as a chilly breeze wafted uncomfortably over his privates.

'SHERLOCK!' he cried out, but the echo and silence was the only thing that came back to him. A mother hen and some chicks looked at him enquiringly as they pecked their way across the yard, but they too  abandoned him as they exited through some nearby bushes. 

Frustrated, he was just about to duck back into the house for his mobile, when the postman's van drove past; popping the horn as he trundled down the quiet lane. To John's relief, Sherlock now came up the main path, carrying a small suitcase in one hand and his violin in the other. Apparently, Mrs. Hudson had acted swiftly to his plea to post some clothes up to Baskerville.

Happy but annoyed, John trotted down to meet the man.

'What the heck was that?!' he snapped irritably, 'you couldn't be bothered to just tap on the glass and let me know you were leaving to get my suitcase from the postman. I was right there, one foot away from you!'

Sherlock looked down warily at the man's red face, wondering what this was about.

'Well?!' John shouted as the silence stretched between them, 'Don't you have anything to say?!'

'Like what?'

John threw his hands up in the air, 'You always do this. You never think about your actions; you just do whatever you want to do. I swear to God; you are the most self-centered man that I know!'

'I know that you know,' Sherlock responded with a small frown, 'why are you shouting?'

The doctor snatched the case, and clutched it under his one arm; still glaring up at his boyfriend in annoyed exasperation.

Sherlock sniffed irritably as he put his hands in his pockets, 'I told you I wasn't a nice man. It's not my problem that you don't want to accept it!'

John took a deep breath and then another. Sherlock hadn't been gone long. He didn't deserved to be yelled at, just because he was absent minded. Sherlock didn't deliberately do this to upset him and besides, it's not like he needed to know Sherlock's every move, like some hormonal angst-ridden teenager.

'Sorry,' John apologized quietly as he put one hand against the other man's chest, needing to feel close to him again. 'I didn't mean what I said.'

'Yes, you did,' Sherlock replied sourly, as he pushed the man’s hands away.

'Well maybe a bit, but I didn't have to be so nasty,' John tacked on, with a repentant look.

'I agree.'

'I was just startled when I couldn't find you.'

The two men just stared at each other. John looked resigned, while Sherlock appeared uncomfortable; his expression cold and blank.

'So I have to report all my movements to you now?' the detective asked in a tight voice.

John sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose, 'no...of course not.'

'You don't sound sure,' Sherlock remarked, his eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. 'Don't you know what you want?  Stop confusing me!'

John cuffed him companionably in the bicep, 'welcome to the wonderful and weird world of relationships.'

Sherlock looked less than amused. 'What does that mean?'

Instead of replying, John reached over to take his hand, and this time Sherlock reciprocated by lacing their fingers together.

'I think we just had our first real fight,' the doctor informed him. 'That wasn't so bad.'

Sherlock's frown deepened at this inaccuracy. 'Your memory is faulty this morning, John. You yell at me constantly.'

'No, I meant as a ...you know …a couple.'

'Oh. Right.'

Sherlock shifted around on his feet.

'Do you still want me?' the detective blurted out, looking so suddenly miserable and vulnerable that it just about did John in. He didn't like that something he said put that look on Sherlock's face. No one should do that. A feeling of fierce blinding protectiveness welled up inside John's chest for his friend, as he tightened his grip on his hand.

'Yes, Sherlock,' he said firmly, not wanting the man to have any doubts. 'I want you.'

'And I can still kiss you anytime I want?'

John smiled and with a nod, opened his arms wide in reply, 'You kissing me anytime you want, is the very best part of any day.'

Sherlock hummed quietly as John wrapped his arms around him; warm contentment once again flooding his limbs.

 

* * *

  _London, 10:13 am_

Mycroft, raised one eyebrow as he read the tiny text on the screen. The fact that his brother was limping was not particularly newsworthy to him. 'Brother mine' was always getting into a scrape despite Dr. Watson’s best efforts to keep him healthy.

His mobile chimed again indicating this time he had been sent a photo. Rising to his feet, he stared incredulously down at the image of Sherlock in an unexpectedly heated embrace


	18. Tryst

Long before their lips ever touched, Sherlock always knew that he would enjoy the kissing.

Tuning out his surroundings, the detective let his mind roll back over the events of the last three days spent with his best friend, flatmate, personal blogger now turned lover.

From his initial experimentation with sex back in the day, kissing was the one thing Sherlock had enjoyed, and he was pleasantly surprised at John's skill. The other man didn't poke or prod awkwardly and unexpectedly. Instead, he caressed and explored in sensual rhythms that made his chest tingle in delight, and push his mind into a blankness that was rare, but quite restful. So yes, once there were no cases on, Sherlock already planned on camping out on John's lap and letting him have his talented way with his mouth.

He passed his thumb lightly over his lips, remembering how they had been touched by his friend. He smiled faintly to himself, as he then recalled John's selfless protestation that he was fine with just kisses.

The doctor was his friend; his only friend and if he wanted more than a kiss, then he could shift to accommodate. However, despite his earlier confident words that it would be no problem being John's lover, Sherlock hadn't been at all certain. The plan was that if it turned out to be too horrible or humiliating, he would just slip into his mind palace and leave the man to his 'fun', and hopefully that would satisfy everyone. He trusted John implicitly with his transport. It was impossible for the doctor to injure him, and when he had coaxed John under the bed covers that first night, Sherlock was fairly confident about his plan.

But...

He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply; bringing the relevant memories forward.

...the first time John had pressed him to his bare chest and kissed him, Sherlock thought his eyeballs would simply roll out of his head. The sensory overload had been almost overwhelming. The only thing that mattered was getting closer; not breathing, not brain work, just more sensation. It had been an amazing experience to be wrapped around someone so completely; to feel the heat and the softness branding every inch of his body; to have frantic hands stroking his back, his arms, his legs, his hair and to feel those same crazed fingers, cradling his face softly as though it was made of precious china.

It hadn't been horrible at all, and instead of trying to block out their lovemaking, Sherlock had been greedily storing up the experience as fast as he could absorb it. It had been fun and exciting and John had smiled the entire time. The doctor had peppered his face with enthusiastic kisses; excessively praising him every time he achieved orgasm that it made the consulting detective's face burn. His mum had been right when she told him to wait for a friend to make love.

Academically, Sherlock knew it was a simple rush of hormones in his head, but never had any chemical given him a rush so sweet.

He was glad now that John had encouraged him to actively participate. He had been just fine with helping his flatmate climax as many times as he wanted. He loved the way John looked at him with such intensity, as if he, Sherlock, was the only person in the world he wanted. It was a heady rush, thinking that he could mean so much to another person. It made him feel...

Sherlock frowned and pushed the confusing thought to one side.

He hadn't thought he would be able to orgasm at all at first, because he was so worried about this whole situation with John, in that the doctor wouldn't be able to work out whatever sexual dilemma was going on his head, and if he didn't orgasm then the man would leave...and on and on it went, as if he was on a hellish slow moving carousel that was going nowhere. Sherlock was relieved and thrilled when it had finally happened, his first orgasm with someone! He was so very glad it was with John, and he had spent some time carefully storing it up in his mind palace.

Later, they had explored frotting with more good success and then (damn it!) they were going to try something new that morning, but they were interrupted by that hateful doctor! But it didn't matter. Sherlock had a good imagination and some data already collected.

He already knew how John looked with his pupils blown wide by desire and excitement as he hovered over him, he knew how John's hands felt as they roughly grasped at his hips pulling him forward, and he knew how John panted like he had no oxygen, when Sherlock placed his hands above his head at his request.

'Sweet heart?,' John's solemn voice interrupted his increasingly pornographic fantasy.

'Yesss?' he hummed as he opened his eyes.

John gave him a stern look. 'You really need to stop thinking about what you are thinking about.'

Sherlock glanced down with an innocent expression on his face, 'which part exactly?'

In reply, the shorter man pointed at the prominent bulge in Sherlock pants, 'you are going to find walking with that thing, very unpleasant after a while.'

'Do you want to touch it?'

'No!' John cried in exasperation, 'I want to continue enjoying our country walk. It's a nice sunny day. Behave yourself, you shameless hussy!'

'I _know_   you want to touch it,’ Sherlock insisted with a knowing smirk.

John scowled and waved his pamphlet of a self-guided walking tour of Dartmoor under the detective's nose, 'No sex until we get back the test results. We’ve taken some unnecessary risk already as it is. Come on Sherlock, all we've done is stay inside.'

The detective fisted his hair in frustration, 'whose stupid idea was this blood test?!'

John rolled his eyes before pulling him along the path.

'Don't you want to see the beauties of the countryside, Sherl?' the doctor tried to reason him into a better mood, 'look at the map on the brochure. Here we have ruins, waterfalls and award winning views.'

'Do I look like I care?!' Sherlock pouted as he folded his arms across his chest, 'I want to be back in bed!'

John sighed at this childish display, wondering if it was just a matter of time before Sherlock stamped his foot on the ground.

'I've created a monster,' the doctor mumbled distractedly as he came to a halt. Sherlock, seeing it as an open invitation pounced on the doctor, much to the other man's amusement.

'All right, all right!' John laughed as he pushed Sherlock away. He was happy that the detective was so enthusiastic considering his initial skittish views about sex. 'Come on, I will give you a hand. Stop rubbing against me like that, or you will come in your pants like a randy teenager.'

With a gleeful grin of triumphant, Sherlock began energetically towing him back to the mansion.

'What are you doing?' John asked curiously, as he stopped them in a nice shady spot.

The detective looked back confused as the other man took off his coat and spread it out on the ground before realizing John's plan.

'HERE?!' Sherlock cried in a scandalized tone, 'out in the open?'

'What? You think the passing butterflies will be traumatized?' the doctor snorted in amusement at this atypical bit of shyness, 'We haven't met anyone in over half an hour. It will be fine.'

Sherlock continued to stare open mouthed at John, and then to the coat on the ground, and then all around them to see if anyone was coming. The countryside was blessedly empty but that could change in an instant. The detective swallowed hard, trying to ease his sudden dry mouth, 'I would rather go back to the house.'

John waved an admonishing finger in his direction, 'I don't trust you at all. You would probably lock me in the bedroom all day, and not let me out.'

'Judging from the smile on your face,' Sherlock sniffed, 'I deduce that would be no hardship on your part.'

John got down on his knees and extended a hand up to him, 'Come here, Sherlock.'

The detective felt goose bumps break out across his skin at the other man’s commanding tone, and wondered briefly what would happen if he refused.

'You've done this before,' Sherlock suddenly blurted out, his lust addled mind clearing for an instant to piece together the data in front of him, 'tell me!'

'If you come here, I will tell you all about it,' John bargained with a roguish wink. Surprised at how wobbly his legs were, Sherlock took one step forward and then another allowing John to pull him down onto his coat.

'That's it,' his lover smiled encouragingly, while he gently lowered him down on the ground, 'I will take care of you. Stop worrying, you git.'

'It is strange that I prefer when you call me names like that, instead of sweetheart?' Sherlock remarked, inhaling sharply as John didn't hesitate a moment before pulling down his zipper and extracting him from his underwear.

'No,' John agreed, as he enjoyed the heat and hardness of Sherlock in his palm, 'I think it suits us. Do you have a pet name for me?'

Sherlock was distractedly looking around again, checking to see if the coast was clear, 'No. I can't imagine calling you anything but John. You can select a name if you want, and let me know.'

The doctor shook his head, and a strange swooping sensation bloomed in his chest. Sherlock was so unlike anyone he had ever met.

The detective frowned at him, 'What’s wrong?'

'Nothing...it's just...it's just that I really like you.'

_God, was that as lame as it sounded?_

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, 'you say it like you have only now realised it.'

'Oh shut and up and close your eyes, you pompous arse,' John requested with a snort of laughter, 'try to relax.'

Sherlock attempted to do as instructed and concentrate on John's delightful stroking, but there were so many other intriguing bits of stimuli intruding. First, the smell of the sun on the green grass nearby, then the ground poking him uncomfortably in his back, and finally John's voice speaking softly to him in a low, continuous stream.

He grinned at his flatmate's medical school adventure at St. Bart's, which involved walking around naked under a lab coat all day, to meet someone for a lunch time tryst in the lab. Was it a lab he knew, perhaps? Abruptly, the story seemed to merge in his mind's eye, and now it was he that was waiting nervously on a cold steel table for John to come use him. Would the man do it slow and sweet, and torture him into completeness, or would he get himself off quick, and callously abandon Sherlock on the table, panting and hard?

The detective clenched his fists as his erection began to throb almost painfully.

_Why is it doing that?_

Quickening his strokes, the doctor was pleased that he had some of the man's pre-cum to work with. 'Beautiful Sherlock,' he murmured encouragingly, as he spread the moisture along his cock, 'I am going to roll you on to your knees, now.'

‘Wait…stop...'

John stilled his hand immediately, a worry line appearing between his eyes, scared that he pushed his friend too far with this “adventure”.

‘Have you changed your mind about oral stimulation?’ Sherlock asked with a hopeful look.

The doctor rolled his eyes again with a snort of rueful laughter, vastly entertained at the other man's impatient attitude to try out every sexual position.

‘No, I haven’t, of course not.’

Sherlock nibbled on his lips excitedly, as he invitingly opened his legs as much as his trousers would allow in this awkward position.

‘I have a condom in my wallet if you want to try now, or we can wait a few days for the test results,’ the doctor offered in a calm tone, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion.

For several long moments Sherlock gaped at him in anguish, seemingly at a loss for words. ‘What kind of choice is that?!!’

‘The safe one,’ he replied, resuming his gentle stroking of the man’s cock to soothe his disappointment.

The detective huffed loudly and threw an arm over his eyes, ‘Gah! Must you be a doctor all of the time?!’

John sighed at the unreasonable question.

It was clear Sherlock was annoyed judging from his silence, but the doctor shrugged it off and concentrated on massaging his flatmate’s large cock and balls, in firm, consistent motions.

‘If we were doing it, how would you fellate me?’ the detective asked unexpectedly; his voice muffled by the arm over his face. 

‘Well, first I would …’

_Hmm? What would he do first?_

He hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest. Giving their height difference he couldn’t very well kneel infront of the detective. A chair or couch would be more comfortable for them both or perhaps the bed, with Sherlock’s long legs draped over the side and him kneeling in between his spread legs; Sherlock’s luscious penis, ripe and red for the taking, straining up and out.

_Oh yes._

_That would be lovely, quite lovely._

‘I would get use to the feel of you first. I think I would kiss you up and down your cock, and then lick it a few times.’

‘Lick it?’ the detective inquired in a puzzled manner, as if he hadn’t heard him properly.

‘Sure, like a lolly.’

Sherlock removed his arm from his face. Red patches of color stained his high cheekbones, as he sucked in a deep breath.

‘Go on,’ he gagged out, arousal making it hard to be his normal articulate self.

‘And then I would take you into my mouth,’ John cupped his hand and slid it down firmly down the man’s cock, mimicking the motion. ‘My mouth would be around you like this, but hotter and wetter.’

Sherlock’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as a stream of liquid dribbled out of the tip of his penis.

John grinned at this tell-tale response, ‘and I certainly wouldn’t let all of this go to waste so I would have to suck quickly to make sure nothing is lost. 

The other man’s hips jerked wildly and John hurriedly pulled him all the way forward and on to his knees.

Sherlock was working on pure instinct now, willing to blindly follow any instruction once John didn't stop what he was doing. He didn't care if he looked ridiculous on all fours, with his pants rolled down his thighs, as along as John didn't stop. It was imperative that he didn't stop! Surely you understand.

'Don't stop,' he panted, when John shifted his position quickly so that he was reaching around Sherlock's pelvis to his front.

'I won't, this is so you don't ruin your trousers,' the doctor explained, 'You’re doing great, love.'

John winced as Sherlock's plush ass involuntarily started to buck and rub against the front of his jeans. Gently he eased back, not wanting to get an erection too. He had promised Sherlock that he would keep a look out and take care of him. He couldn't do that if he was aroused too.

'Fuck, John' Sherlock choked out as he closed his eyes, thrusting forward in the doctor’s hot, tight grip, ‘it feels too good. Don't want to orgasm! Don't make me.'

'I want you to. I want you to come. Don’t you want to?'

'No,' the other man cried out, even as his entire body began to tremble, 'This feels too good.'

'I can make it feel even more amazing,' the doctor whispered in his ear. 'Don't fight me. See it Sherlock…see me in your mind. Look down at me laying beneath you; open and obedient, letting you fuck my mouth.'

But Sherlock only shook his head as if desperately trying to dislodge the enticing vision from his imagination. He didn’t want this to stop. He would rather stop breathing all together, rather than lose the excruciating pleasure of this moment. He needed to slow down.

‘John…,’ he panted out, ‘help me.’

A sudden gust of wind whipped across his cum covered penis, sending a wave of coldness over the wet organ.

He bellowed loudly as he splattered the grass below him.


	19. Skinny dipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning- there is no sex in this chapter. Ok, I am just teasing some of my reviewers. It's okay if you like porny stories, I like them too. However can I recommend another writer for you? Try the Sherlock writer "illwick". She writes everything from vanilla to SMS, and what is even better is everything is consensual so there are no triggers. My little romance story can't compare to some of the scorching hot stuff she writes. It's awesome!

'It's me!' John sang out loudly as he re-entered the clearing, not wanting to startle Sherlock.

He need not have bothered.

Carrying their two handkerchiefs which he had soaked in a nearby stream, John smiled down at the man still stretched out on his coat, lounging on the grass. Apparently, Sherlock no longer cared if someone came across him with his cock dangling out of his trousers.

The doctor got down on his knees and proceeded to clean up Sherlock as the other man hummed softly to himself; waving the long fingers of his left hand in time to the melody.

'Hulo, John,' the detective said in a sing song voice of utter contentment, as he cracked open one eye.

'Hulo, Sherlock,' the doctor replied with a chuckle, 'you go ahead and take a nap if you want. It's lovely to see you soaking up the sunshine, like a lazy cat.'

Sherlock harrumphed softly at the description, as he yawned and languidly stretched his long limbs. It wasn't the first time he had been described as cat-like, but lazy cat made him think of that obese ginger tabby whats-its-name, that couldn't even climb up a simple staircase.

In the meantime, John finished cleaning and drying his lover off, before deftly tucking him back into his ridiculously expensive underpants. He then tossed their ruined handkerchiefs into some nearby bushes, before crawling over to lie down at Sherlock's side.

His heart wanted to melt into a puddle of goo, when Sherlock turned his head and repeatedly brushed noses with him in a playful, childish way. 'Hulo, John.'

John promised himself that he would try and remember how happy he was right at this precise moment, the next time Sherlock had him out in the middle of the night, holding a baggie of dried goat mandibles, or whatever disgusting crap was needed to solve the case.

'Hulo, Sherlock'.

With a contented sigh, the doctor flopped over on his back and angled himself at right angles to his friend, securing the prime spot of Sherlock’s stomach as a pillow. He was going to ask the other man if he wanted to go a little further to do some swimming in the stream/waterfall, that was a short five minute hike away, but right now John didn't want to move a muscle.

Having such a sated lover was giving him a power rush like no other. 

He closed his eyed, enjoying every inspiration of breath Sherlock took, which caused him to rise and fall, ever so slightly as a result.

In.

Out.

Up.

Down.

'JOHN!' Sherlock suddenly cried out, startling some birds in the bushes into flight. 'Do you want reciprocation?!'

Without waiting for a reply, Sherlock shoved his flat mate off his stomach, and rolled him on to his back where he started to paw at the fastenings on John’s pants.

'Sherlock!' the doctor cried in exasperation, as the man's spidery fingers investigated his groin. "Investigated", was really the kindest word he could think off for whatever his lover thought he was doing.

The detective tensed apprehensively when he realized that John was soft.

'Thanks, Sherlock,' John remarked in a dry tone, as he held on to his slender wrist, 'but I'm fine.'

Gone was Sherlock's happy mood as he tried to deduce what was going on. The internet said it was imperative to always make sure your boyfriend got off, if you did. He had only remembered just in time! Thank goodness!

'I don't understand,’ the detective growled uneasily, ‘what do you mean you are fine? Explain.'

John snorted softly, kissing each thin wrist in turn to prevent himself from laughing out loud at the other man’s adorkable expression, 'Of course I always  _want_  you to reciprocate, but I don't  _need_  it at this exact moment.'

Sherlock scowled as he scanned through the meagre contents of his mental folders that dealt with the subject matter at hand. 'It isn't like you to be coy, John! Just tell me what I did wrong.'

With a groan the doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if he shouldn't let Sherlock do it.

But, no.

At that moment, he looked up into Sherlock's face and was struck once again by the sharp vulnerability in his expression, even if he was trying to hide it. Sherlock could harangue a criminal into a corner and reduce them to a sobbing ball of misery, with just the power of his voice and his stare, but he was a feather weight in dealing with his emotions, especially the type of roller-coaster ride that first time sex could wring out a person, no matter who they were.

Gently, he pulled his favourite flat mate on top of him so that the man was straddling his thighs.

'Sherlock, sometimes I will come home and you will ask for sex and I will tell you no,' John began and predictably, his best friend glared down at him.

'But that is because,' he hastened to add on, 'I am either tired, or feeling sick or I am covered in something disgusting. It is not a rejection of you. I will most definitely have you, once I get cleaned up and had a nap or swallowed a couple of Panadol. '

'But that's not true now,' Sherlock remarked, as he gave John's cock an absentminded stroke, liking the man's primal, matter-of-fact way of saying _I will have you-_ very much.

'Now is a special case, because we are waiting on the blood test,' John continued, breaking into the other man's thoughts, 'Don't be fooled by this cool, controlled exterior. Be assured that I am most definitely looking forward to shagging you like a rabid dog, once we get good news. '

Sherlock snorted with laughter at the idea of John dry humping his leg ecstatically. Well at least the good doctor was enthusiastic about him. That was an excellent start!

'I will hold you to that,' the detective warned as he settled into John's open arms.

With their positions reversed, the older man stacked both his hands under his head while Sherlock now curled himself into the man's side, with one hand still tucked into the front of John’s jeans.

'So you understand, Sherlock,' he repeated himself, 'No, just means not right now. You don't have to tie yourself into knots, attaching all sorts of meanings to it.'

'And you are sure about not wanting a hand job, now?' Sherlock asked again. He conceded that John's idea was a good one. It would be a relief to know that John wouldn't get himself into a strop, if he, Sherlock, didn't want to have sex, say for instance in the middle of a case.

This whole arrangement was getting better and better by the minute!

'I'm sure,' John whispered back, resolutely counting back from a 100 in his head. He didn't want to move Sherlock's hand away from his groin because having access to it, seemed to comfort the detective in the midst of his doubt.

Like a pacifier?

_Oh my God. Don't think that! Don't think of Sherlock's mouth at all._

Desperately, John forced his mind to think of a case.

_Which case?_

_Any case!!!_

Fortunately, one involving Mycroft popped into his head, which caused any thoughts of arousal to be flushed out of his brain in an instant.

Relieved, his mind eventually began to wander as the quiet countryside settled over them like a light warm blanket. It wasn’t silent of course as there was a buzzing symphony of insects and birds chirping away happily in the breezy sunshine of the midday heat.

John frowned as he stared up at the blue sky above peeking through the branches.

He had thought Sherlock would have needed much more persuasion to relax on their impromptu vacation. He was quite astounded that he had not been dragged down to the local constabulary as yet, to see what was on tap. Had Sherlock replaced his usual obsession with the criminal element in favor of investigating John's body? It seemed reasonable, judging from the methodical way he was researching and taking notes and asking a million and one questions.

But...

_Wouldn't he get bored with this, too?_

'John, you are being inconsiderate!' Sherlock reprimanded him sharply, 'if you  _must_  think, please do so quietly.'

'Sorry,' John replied automatically, without realizing what he was saying. Turning his head, he pressed a soft kiss at Sherlock's temple. 'There's a nice waterfall up ahead, do you want to go for a swim?

'A swim? I don't have my bathing trunks.'

'Oh, I was just thinking…we could...'

'Skinny dipping, John?' Sherlock remarked in a condescending way, 'Isn't that a bit juvenile?

'Have you ever done it?'

Sherlock huffed a noisy breath into his neck, 'That was a really good orgasm, earlier.'

'Yeah,' John grinned in pride at the wonder in the detective's voice, 'you were amazing.'

Sherlock couldn't agree more.

He buried his nose in John's neck and took in a deep breath. The doctor had a wonderful clean smell of soap and citrus and sun, with just the faint whiff of aftershave.

'I was very aroused.'

John swallowed hard, and started counting back from 100 again. Sherlock's deep voiced confession spoken directly into his ear, had sent a jolt of sensation straight to his groin. He was surprised that the man didn't comment on the way his cock had just twitched under his palm.

'Can we do some more role play?' the detective asked.

'You want to role play?' John repeated in surprise.

'If it gives such bloody good orgasm, yes I do!'

'Oh well…sure. What do you have in mind?’

'Nothing really comes to mind,' Sherlock shrugged, 'I love being me. Don't you have any ideas? The amount of relationships you have had, I thought you would be a professional.'

John racked his brain, trying to think of something fun for two men to do together. It really wasn’t in his wheelhouse of expertise.

'Wait, I know. I saw it in a porn!' Sherlock yelped excitedly, 'We can play doctor.'

Errr…no. Absolutely NOT!

'Sherl, that is my job; I can't be doing it and in the back of my head, I am distracted by something kinky we did the night before. Please think of something else, love. I will do anything you want.'

He could feel Sherlock thinking, even if he couldn't see his face.

'We could play cops and robbers?'

John grinned up at the fluffy clouds overhead. How could he say no to something like that?

In the end the doctor had his way, and they made it to the waterfall.

Sherlock still wasn't interested in skinny dipping however, he didn't think he was missing out. He had a great view after all, and was very much enjoying himself as he sat under a shady tree near the water's edge with his long arms wrapped around his legs, and his bony chin perched on his knees.

John wasn't classical handsome at all, but such biological and social constructs didn't matter to Sherlock. His heart was more caught by the way John was so happy and comfortable, walking around the scenic spot without a stitch on; diving in whenever the mood took him.

Unfortunately, Sherlock predicted that all of that would change when they reached London again. Gone would be this humming, smiling version of John. In his mind's eye, he could imagine a tense faced doctor with clenched fists, darting suspicious glances all around; as if wondering who knew he and Sherlock were kissing and experimenting with sex behind closed doors.

Would their friendship survive this? The detective felt his stomach twist uncomfortably as he faced the question head on. Perhaps they should stay out here for a bit longer.

John splashed closer and the detective quickly fixed his face, when the doctor rose up and kissed him softly on the mouth.

'Alright there, sweetheart?' John inquired worriedly, 'you look ready to pick a fight.'

Sherlock licked the freshwater droplets off his lips that the man had transferred to him during the kiss.

'Aren't you cold?' he inquired, trying to deflect these questions that he didn't want to deal with right now.

In reply, John reached up for another kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck. The detective moaned in contentment as he also wrapped his arms around John's broad back, pulling him closer despite the fact that the man was wet. Why the hell should he care about something like that, anyhow? Sherlock prodded his tongue against John's lips, and swept inside the moment he was allowed him to. Eagerly he angled the man's head to deepen the kiss.

Just then a rustle came from the path and John ducked down in the water, while Sherlock stood up swiftly.

'Come out,' he shouted in a startled voice, spreading his arms wide in an automatic gesture to protect John behind him, abruptly realising they were really in the middle of nowhere, out here. 

However, it was only a freckled faced boy who wandered into the clearing, carrying a big covered basket.

'Hulo sir,' the ten-year-old said politely, 'delivery for Dr. John Watson. I was told he is on this path.'

Bemused Sherlock took the heavy basket and offered the smiling delivery boy a pound note, ' I saw him a few minutes ago. I will get it to him.'

'Cheers, sir,' the boy tipped his cap in an old fashioned salute before happily galloping off back to the village. By the time Sherlock turned around, John's head had popped up from under the water.

'Oh great,' the doctor said with an enthusiastic grin, 'Perfect timing. I am getting a bit hungry. Can you unpack?'

Sherlock found a flat stone of sorts near the edge of the water, and spread the large cloth napkin. Then he took out the carefully wrapped bundles of fruit, cheese, sliced meat and wine.

The detective's eyes widened in surprise as he stared down at the meal, stunned to observe that everything was his favourite.

Was this a coincidence? Perhaps, but it was so typically John that he made note of such things.

A warm, tingly feeling settled in Sherlock's chest when he finally looked across at his friend. 'These are my favourites.'

John picked up a piece of cheese and held it up, 'I know.'

Obediently Sherlock took a bite but as he chewed, he bent his head to press a kiss to John's wrist. The doctor always treated him with affection, respect and warmth, but this was in a new category all together.

'Why did you do this?' Sherlock asked curiously, as he got out the small glasses to pour the wine.

'Why do you think I did this?' John volleyed back in a classic deflection.

Sherlock frowned at him crossly, 'I wouldn't ask you if knew, would I?!'

The smaller man looked sheepish as he fiddled with a crusty slice of bread. 'I was kind of hoping you would answer that. Look, don't get squeamish by this but what I feel for you is so overwhelming, that I needed an outlet.'

'Like when I shoot the walls of the flat?'

'Hasn't anyone done something like this for you before?' John remarked, confused that Sherlock couldn't understand him.

The detective frowned searching his memory, failing to observe the look of misery on his flat mate's face.

'Why would anyone want to?'

_Because Sherlock, you are warm, funny and just amazing._

'Forget that question,' John said dismissively, not wanting the man to dwell on it too much and become melancholy, 'Do you like that I have done this?'

Sherlock patted his hand happily, signalling to John that he wanted him to offer him more of the picnic treats.

'You're going to get fat by the time we get home,' the doctor added with a fond grin as he held up a slice of bread.

 


	20. Olive oil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no...work intrudes again. Here we have a short chapter.

They had been invited to a small party that night at the bed and breakfast.

Sherlock knew that John knew, that normally he would rather eat his scarf, than attend an event of such a nature, but tonight as he climbed into the car, he didn't mind, and John seemed to know that too.

The detective couldn't really say for certain why he needed a distraction. He just felt agitated and twitchy all over. The countryside was a lot quieter than he was used to for sure, and that had a role to play but it wasn't the only reason.

His relationship with John was changing, and he was becoming...

_Anxious?_

_Fearful?_

_Resentful?_

The detective had been vacillating between these three emotions until he felt the real need to hit something. John was looking over at him ever so often from the driver’s seat, but didn't say anything much to help.

Sherlock was ready to blame it all on the blasted olive oil.

The slender vial of expensive oil that should have been used to dip the crusty bread in, had remained accidentally hidden at the bottom of the basket during their impromptu picnic. Sherlock hadn't thought much of it as John rolled the container around in his fingers, but he sat up to attention right quick, when his favourite blogger announced he felt like masturbating.

Sherlock had just sat there like a moron, mouth hanging open in shock as if electrified with a cattle prod. In contrast, John calmly sauntered away to find a nice comfortable spot in the soft evening sunshine to lay down, before he spread his legs and poured some of fragrant oil on his soft cock. Without so much as a care for the rest of the world, the doctor then propped one arm under his head, closed his eyes and slowly stroked himself.

The younger man was completely mesmerized by John's tan muscular body, the blissful smile and his glistening penis. He couldn't understand why the good doctor had once tried to hide all of this wonderfulness from him. Was it a bit not good to think it was one of the most exciting things he had ever seen?

Of course, Sherlock's own body had responded in kind to the visual feast now laid out before him on a grassy tablecloth, and all too soon his cock began pressing behind his zipper in a way to signal its desire to be over there, right now! Free samples this way, his other head seemed to say as it throbbed insistently in time to his elevated pulse.

But it was his turn to stand look out.

The detective had therefore dutifully searched the surrounding trees, before John groaned in such a filthy way that Sherlock almost gave himself whiplash.

The poor man resisted for exactly four seconds longer, before he started shedding his clothes and scrabbling over to where his friend lay, wantonly sprawled out enjoying himself immensely.

Sherlock was glad that the other man had his eyes closed though, so he didn't see his run, hop and take off his shirt dance routine. It wasn't particularly gracefully at all.

'John?' he said in hoarse murmur as he stood there finally naked and all trembling with need, 'John, please?'

The doctor had opened his eyes and with a languid stretch of his frame, he smiled and patted the grass next to him.

Sherlock had been breathless with excitement, as John rolled to his side and began arranging their limbs in a new orientation, draping the detective’s lanky leg high over his hip and scooting closer. Sherlock almost choked when they began doing each other at the same time.

_Mutual masturbation!_

He had read it in the book but bloody hell, the descriptions did _not_ do it justice as he bent his curly head entirely focused on the sight of his own cock, engorged and dusky red all prettily decorated with olive oil too, being stroked by the strong, skilful fingers of the doctor. Several times to Sherlock's chagrin, his rhythm had stuttered to a halt on John's penis, but the man had patiently murmured for him to keep going. It was just the receiving and giving of stimulation like this, was almost too much sensory input for Sherlock to take in, but John seemed to know that.

It had even taken him awhile for the younger man to realise that John had been calling across at him, wanting to kiss. Sherlock had looked up and his eyes connected with John, just inches from his own, as they lay side by side.

The man's pupils were blown wide and he almost didn't look like himself. He wasn't smiling now, and they didn't kiss. They couldn't; because that would have broken the smouldering eye fuck they were taking for a test drive.

The rest of it was lost as they rocked and panted, calling out encouragement to each other as they chased their orgasms to the end.

John had apologised afterwards but Sherlock had waved it to the side. He didn't know why the doctor had felt the need to knock his hand away, shove him down on his back and dribble warm semen all over his stomach, cock and balls. The surprise of it though, had almost distracted Sherlock from his own finish, but he was so far gone that a stranger could have walked past their clearing and he would have still come in John's hands, back bowed, head back in a silent scream.

This time however, Sherlock had no choice but to join John in the water, but as they lay drying off in the grass like two stranded starfishes, side by side on a beach, Sherlock's mind churned. For some unaccountably reason, his brain began listing all the things that go wrong at warp speed.

He, who ruthlessly organised his mind, had lost control and his thoughts went spinning away in manner that made him whimper in agony. Sensing his distress and panic, John had lovingly pulled him into his arms. Relieved, the taller man had wrapped his wiry limbs securely all around the doctor and restlessly dozed on and off for the rest of the evening.

'Sherlock?' John called softly as they parked in the driveway of the small boutique hotel. The building glowed with warmth, light and faraway laughter, recalling the detective back to the present. 'Do you want to go home?'

'I want a beer, actually,' Sherlock lied, but apparently such deflections were no longer acceptable.

Fruitlessly he strained against the arm that John had thrown against his chest, keeping him in his seat as surely as a seat belt.

'This isn't going to work if you don't talk to me,' John said in a sorrowful voice not looking at him but out through the window. 'Please. I know this isn't your area, but please try. Do it for me.'

A strained silence fell between them in the darkened interior.

'I am worried about the future,' Sherlock eventually muttered in frustrated embarrassment, 'apparently my thoughts are just as  _ordinary_ and  _unimaginative_  as everyone else. Go ahead, laugh if you want.'

Of course John didn't laugh.

'And that's it?' the doctor pressed cautiously, turning his head to the side to the face him, 'Nothing else? Did I do something today that you didn't like? Is it still alright to touch and kiss?'

In reply, Sherlock leaned over and John lifted his head to accept the man's assurances.

He broke the kiss but remained close as he gently cupped John's cheek, caressing it with his thumb, 'the touching and the kissing are some of the best bits now, don't you think?'

John snorted at this typical Sherlockian response.

'Yeah,' the doctor smilingly agreed as he nuzzled against the other man's surprisingly soft skin, 'but Sherlock, I know how you think. You need to have everything and know everything right now, but what we are doing isn't one of those things. It needs time but I am right here, Sherl. I am here with you and I don't want to be anywhere else. You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing at night. You really, really mean a lot to me.'

Their eyes connected for one intense moment.

_Sherlock, you are my whole life now_.

The detective shook his head minutely. He couldn’t explain how this man’s heart worked, and with a little sigh of despair he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against his flat mate.

'John?'

'Yes?'

'You smell deliciously of olive oil.'


	21. The handsome stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I was re-watching Xmen:First class the other day and this idea of an antagonist for the romance, popped into my head.

Sherlock looked at him sideways, the moment they stepped through the door of the B and B.

John was a bit distracted greeting their party hosts, and perhaps his view was blocked by all the bodies surrounding him, but Sherlock's slighter higher vantage point was not.

Impatiently the detective waited for the other man to take stock of the room, worriedly clenching his fist at his side. Should he insist that the man stay at the party? Gah...he was no good at this sort of emotional rubbish!

There was no time to ponder further as John stopped in mid stride with a flabbergasted look on his face. Sherlock desperately made a mad grab for his hand to ensure he didn't walk away.

They were still somewhat at the entrance, and party goers were turning around to take note of their presence. Even here in this sleepy little village of Dartmoor, John's well written blog had made an impact, and people were beginning to recognize the crime solving duo. Not people though specifically, as this party appeared to made up entirely of men!

Alarmed John's eyes cut to his, and Sherlock shrugged helplessly.

_Don't look at me, I didn't realise either it was a party for gays._

'I'm game if you are,' John eventually muttered under his breath. Sherlock smiled and released his hand, reassured when the shorter man squared his shoulders as if going into battle.

A warm spot glowed in Sherlock’s chest at the intense expression on John’s face. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the conflict occurring in the other mind’s man, but he could appreciate that John wasn’t just fighting for himself; he was fighting for there to be an “us”.

_Thank you, John Watson. Thank you again for being my friend._

Of course with the difference in their two personalities, the ex-army captain soon attracted a warm circle of admirers with questions about his stories. Sherlock's stern, frosty mannerisms naturally meant he had about a metre of space, in a permanent but invisible circle around him. However, Gary the hotel proprietor, kept him well supplied with cold beer and he was happily collecting observations on the villagers, ready to entertain John at a later time.

In the meantime, the doctor turned around at the slight tug on his elbow as Billy, Gary's partner, tried to get his attention, 'Thank you for coming.'

'Certainly,' John added automatically noting the man's pinched look of unhappiness, 'all right there?'

Billy shook his head, 'Sorry, I had an ulterior motive for inviting you. Come with me, please.'

After glancing around once to pinpoint Sherlock, who was now rudely engaged in re-arranging their hosts' books in the bookshelf, John let himself be led down the corridor into a quiet parlour in the next room. He immediately slipped in doctor mode at the sight of a man, madly rocking to and fro in front the cherry fire place.

'Okay, calmly now,' he murmured reassuringly as he got down on one knee, 'I'm a doctor. Tell me where it hurts.'

'He's not sick,' another man came up quietly from behind with his arms full of bright eyed toddler, 'He's worried. Are you really a doctor?'

'All the way from London!' Billy interjected excitedly, 'This is Dr John Watson; he is a world class surgeon!'

Oh heavens.

The village doctor was certainly singing his praises.

_Sherlock is going to have a fit!_

John frowned at the hotel owner who nodded his head encouragingly, 'I don't practice anymore but I can still offer medical assistance.'

No one seemed to know what to say now at this junction, and they all looked at each other rather stupidly. However, as if trying to make up for the lack of sociability of her fathers, the baby extended one its chubby fists to which John shook solemnly, 'pleased to meet you.'

This seemed to rouse all from their contemplative state, 'Sorry, doctor. My name is Cecil and the worrier over there, is also named John.'

John waved feebly at him.

'We came down here so he could finally introduce us to his father,' Cecil explained, 'but I think he's lost his nerve.'

'I didn't lose my nerve,' John growled testily rising to his feet to take the baby for a cuddle, 'my father's sick, or did you conveniently forget?!'

'So we were wondering,' Billy cut in quickly, perhaps witness to too many fights between his friends, 'if you could go with them, just in case his father falls ill again.'

John hesitated at such an odd request, even as every eye turned to him with a hopeful look.

'I don't know; can't you ask…'

'...we can pay you!' Cecil interjected. 'This is a good idea! What if John's father has another episode?’

'Episode?!'

The ex- army doctor turned stern now, and all in the room felt the change.

'Explain, please.'

'He has a weak heart,' John confessed only to trail off under the power of the other man's disapproving glare.

'And what really do you expect me to do if your father has a heart attack in this out of the way place, hmm?' the doctor growled, 'I am not God! He needs to be close to a proper hospital, if you are knowingly going to spring what I think you are going to spring on him.'

The doctor glanced around unconsciously seeking the reassurance of Sherlock's presence, as disappointment hung heavy in the air. 'Look, do you really need to tell your father?'

Unlike Sherlock, John could tell when he made a major social faux pas within seconds. 'I am sorry...I...'

Although he would stand by his medical advice, it probably wasn't the most sensitive way to reply to what was obviously a tense and unresolved family situation. His own reality suddenly came crashing to the forefront.

'I am sorry that I upset you,' John repeated sorrowfully, looking around the room, 'I only recently…sort of … came out myself, to just one person. It  _was_  hard but it was the best decision of my life. But please, if you are going to do this, take your father into the city and advise his physician. Don't take any chances. I will excuse myself. Good day all.'

John turned and walked away, wondering now if he and Sherlock were still welcome at the gathering. He was reassured when Cecil followed him into the corridor to thank him for the advice, and shake his hand.

'Oh, for the love of Pete!' Billy hissed, suddenly rushing pass them in the corridor and into the main party room, 'Don't worry, I am on it! Don't worry!'

Confused, John looked on as the small man made a bee line for Sherlock, who was leaning against the wall chatting with some tall bloke.

'Is there a problem? Who is that?'

'That's Erik,' Cecil grimaced, 'village heart breaker and all round scoundrel. Who invited him?!'

The doctor's eyebrow rose as Sherlock uncharacteristically laughed out loud, at something the handsome stranger said. John then stifled a giggle himself, at the look of horror on his boyfriend's face when Billy reached the pair, and extended a hand to Sherlock under the pretence of asking for a dance.

Clearing not quite knowing what to say or react, Sherlock reluctantly agreed and was currently being towed away from "bad influences" to the dance floor. John was holding his side now with repressed laughter, as little Billy confidently arranged Sherlock's long limbs into the correct orientation for dancing. The detective telegraphed John a look of extreme distress, as the pair shuffled their way through the first verse of an insipid pop song.

'I think he wants you,' Cecil remarked, also smiling at the comical manner at which Sherlock kept Billy as far away from him as he could.

The detective scowled ferociously, infuriated at how slowly John was walking towards him. Thankfully, Billy didn't mind being dropped like a hot potato as Sherlock grabbed hold of John's waist and plastered him to his body.

'I'll make you pay for that later,' the detective leaned down to growl in his ear, as he gave him a playful shake before spinning him around energetically, ‘I know you deliberately slowed down your pace in getting over here!’

John laughed as he looked up him, when all at once it struck him what they were doing infront of everyone. At the sudden look of panic in John's eyes, Sherlock reached up gently but firmly to cradle his face in both hands.

'John, keep your eyes on me! No one is the least bit interested in what we are doing,' the detective assured quietly, 'you don't have to go. Stay at my side!'

They were standing in the middle of the floor but Sherlock appeared to be correct, as everyone just ducked around them and continued dancing.

John took a few deep breaths to get himself under control and raised his hands to clasp his lover's wrists, 'Sorry, Sherlock. It's me,  _not_ you. You’re wonderful.'

The man gave him a small supportive grin. 'I know.'

'I couldn't do this without you, God, I really couldn't,' John muttered fiercely.

Sherlock shook his head, 'When we get back to London don't forget though, in the midst of all that you will face...

John looked up into his eyes

‘…I would be lost without my blogger. It is I, who couldn't do this without you.'

John strained forward, and surprised but pleased at this show of affection in public, Sherlock eagerly complied by leaning over to kiss his lips.

It was not a kiss of passion. It was instead one of such tenderness that at that moment, Sherlock wished nothing more than to take away all the worry, all the pain and all the embarrassment John was to face in the near future, but he couldn't. All he could do was this. All he could do was hold him tight so he couldn't leave him.

'Why do you have to be so blasted tall?!' John unexpectedly grumbled.

Sherlock wrapped his arms softly around him, as he started to dance, 'Oh, I don't know. I think my height is just perfect.'

Now that he was more relaxed, John realized that they did fit together better this was, as he was quite able to comfortably turn his head and rest his face on Sherlock's breast, as the other man turned his head to rest his cheek on top of his blonde hair. John closed his eyes and contently crossed his arms tightly around Sherlock's slim waist; wondering anew how he had ever gotten so lucky.

Not everyone was so happy though, as a pair of electric blue eyes glittered jealously at the couple from the corner of the room.

 


	22. Dangerous games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had so much trouble with AO3 recently that I decided to give it a break. Hope it's all sorted now.

He didn’t know what song Sherlock was humming, but he smiled at the coat hook as he hung up his jacket in the foyer of Henry’s house.

John had far less experience with the Latin dances compared to Sherlock. However, he was pretty sure he didn’t need to be plastered right up to the man during the dance. He had a feeling that he now sported the imprint of Sherlock’s shirt buttons along his back, not that he minded at all.

The doctor perched himself on the arm of the sofa, the better to watch this odd but endearingly happy version of his best mate, as he glided through the semi dark living room; still dancing away in his imagination.

‘So I haven’t heard you laugh like that in….’ John interrupted with a curious eyebrow, ‘well perhaps never. What did Erik say to you?’

Sherlock grinned widely in that creepy way he got sometimes.

‘It was a very astute observation on the MP for the county.’

Oh boy.

John was 100 percent certain he didn’t want to know.

‘I don’t recall mentioning his name or you ever speaking to him, though’ was the lightning fast observation, by the world’s only consulting detective. 'Explain.'

John grinned up at him, ‘He’s apparently a well-known figure in the community. His reputation is a bit on the side of infamous.’

Sherlock glanced across as he proceeded to get out some mugs and turn on the kettle. ‘A bit well deserved I think. He kept checking his watch, timing how long it would take to convince me to walk out in the garden with him.’

John scratched his forehead absently.

He was relieved of course that Sherlock realised what his new acquaintance was on about, but this nonchalant manner worried him.

Should he say something?

Should he warn Sherlock not to cultivate Erik’s company if he came around?

The detective was so inexperienced that it would be prudent for him to keep his distance, but a warning could backfire.  Knowing Sherlock as well as he did, a warning might be like wagging the proverbial red flag at a bull.

Doubt gnawed at the edge of John’s consciousness.

‘Are you JEALOUS?!’ Sherlock roared in sudden delight, hovering over him with an unholy look of excitement in his eyes. ‘What do I do now? Oh, this will be delightful!’

_WTF?_

John put a hand on the middle of Sherlock’s chest to hold him back, eyeing him with an exasperated look.

‘That is so not funny!’

‘But oh it could be so very fun,’ Sherlock goaded him flirtatiously, making John wonder exactly what type of porn Sherlock had run through in the early days of his “research”.

‘Absolutely not, ‘John growled back, ‘The jealous boyfriend bit is a dangerous animal.’

‘But isn’t danger our thing?’ Sherlock said with a whine, as he awkwardly ran his left hand through John’s hair as though trying to erase the stern expression on the man’s face, ‘it will be alright.’

The doctor snorted unbecomingly at that point. He didn’t know how Sherlock came up with these mad sorts of conversations and counter arguments.  

Certainly the two of them were addicted to adrenaline in an almost unhealthy way and while John could admit that he still was, he wasn’t the same person anymore. Back then, he didn’t have anything to lose. Back then, he kept a loaded gun in a bedroom drawer and stared at it for hours.

‘Sweetheart, you have to take my word for it,’ John continued to insist firmly, refusing to be swayed by the other’s eager puppy dog expression, ‘what we have is too new to even think of that sort of play.’

Sherlock suddenly dropped his hand with a speculative, unhappy look and a long beat of silence extended heavily between them. He quirked a disbelieving eyebrow, ‘you’re not ...you‘re not actually jealous, are you, John? Erik and I were just talking. I didn’t go anywhere with him.’

John fought to not roll his eyes at this seemingly soap opera turn of events. This was exactly what he was talking about. They didn’t know each other well enough in this incarnation of their relationship to play games with it.

‘It’s fine,’ opening his arms wide so Sherlock could fit in the space between them and prop his forearms on his shoulders. He allowed Sherlock to minutely examine his expression, smiling when the tense lines around his eyes smoothen out. Contentedly, he hugged the man around his slim waist as he tucked his face against his stomach, ‘Look, everyone has their thing and some couples like this jealously dynamic in a relationship, but I don’t. I don’t think it’s alright for anyone to dictate to you who you can talk to and where you go, and to mete out punishments like a judge and executioner, if you refuse to comply. If you are ever in a relationship like that, I want you to promise me, promise me….’

John broke off with a strangled howl of pain.

‘Sherlock, stop!’

The young man stumbled back, eyes wide and disbelieving, as John clutched his bad shoulder which throbbed under the unexpected harsh twist of his lover’s strong fingers.

‘What the hell? Why did you do that?!!’ John shouted. ‘Jesus, go get me some ice!’

Sherlock obediently dashed towards the fridge, leaving John to figure out how best to dig himself out of this proverbial hole he had fallen into. The detective soon returned, pale and trembling as he avoided his eyes, while pressing the plastic bag of frozen peas against his best friend’s afflicted shoulder.

‘Sherlock…’

The doctor frowned as the other man visibly flinched. In just one minute it would appear as though all the progress they had made in the last couple of days, had vanished. He took a deep calming breath to try again.

‘You remember two weeks ago, when I chased you are around the flat, trying to get you to take a multivitamin?’

Sherlock shifted the bag of peas minutely to a new position, but didn’t reply.

‘No? Well, how about that time in February when you realised that for the last five months, I had been switching your night cup of coffee for decaf?’

Dark stormy eyes flickered to his briefly, but he still didn’t speak.

'I’ve grown accustom to taking care of you,’ John explained gently, ‘I only want good things for you. When I said what I said about you being in another relationship…I was thinking only of your safety and happiness. I have no intention of…’

John sighed quietly to himself, wondering again at his friend’s low self-esteem. ‘I won’t give you up Sherlock. I don’t know why your mind even went down that path, but I can see that it did.’

This time Sherlock raised his head to look at him. There was hurt written across his features as sure as if his flatmate had slapped him across the face.

‘I would fight to keep you,’ John stated with such intensity that it took him back.

‘You would?’ he blurted out stupidly, finally finding his voice.  ‘Well…that’s just…splendid.' He had the funny feeling that his face was on fire no matter how badly he wanted to keep his normal composure. Never had he felt more loved by someone other than family. ‘That’s just…’

‘I would fight with everything I am,’ John surged up and captured his mouth in an open kiss.

‘Jawnnnn,’ he gurgled, trying to maintain his balance as the doctor swarmed almost desperately over him. With a surge of strength, the man had reversed their positions and now, he Sherlock was perched on the edge of one of the plush arms of the couch. For a long time after that, he couldn’t say much of anything else as his mouth was most decidedly occupied, since John seemed to take it to heart that he needed convincing of his affections.

He gasped for oxygen when John finally broke off his kiss to suck along his jaw and his neck, ‘Please, I need...’

His request might have been inarticulate but not to someone with an experienced eye as the doctor. In short order, John had stripped him of all his clothes and tipped him over the edge of the sofa, so now his pelvis was balanced on the raised surface of the sofa’s arm and his long legs hung over the side.

Sherlock felt he was going to vibrate out of his skin with sudden want and lust for the man infront of him. John, who for whatever reason was standing there still in all his fucking clothes, while he was spread out like an offering at a festival banquet. The tilted power dynamic from this unusual combination was making him horny as hell, and he groaned appreciatively when John slipped his hands under each buttock and massaged greedily.

Oh how he wished that John would throw caution to the wind and go down on him. Just the thought of that wet heat around him made his cock throb and harden even further, and he suspected John’s brain was similarly engaged thinking about it too. The struggle with the temptation was as plain as the day on his face but so was the moment when the doctor mastered himself, much to Sherlock’s dismay. John smiled lovingly down at him, and gave his bare bottom a gentle pat as though he was a child.

_Damn stupid blood test! Damn it to hell!_

Frustrated, Sherlock drew his feet up and planted them on the arm of the sofa, bracketing John who was standing in between his legs, staring down with a hungry expression. Shyly Sherlock tilted his pelvis up, suddenly unsure that the good doctor would indulge him. Why should John do anything to give him pleasure when he had behaved so badly?

True, he had misunderstood John’s words and had believed that the man was already thinking of ending what they had, and perhaps moving on to someone new. He had believed the worst and so suffered an agony that felt as those his insides where being shredded. In that moment, all he could think about was hurting John back the way he was hurting.

‘John?’ he said meekly, ‘are you still in pain?’

The doctor stepped closer, ‘I could never be too tired or hurt for you, baby.’

Sherlock sobbed softly in relief when the other man pressed his thigh oh so gently against his pulsing cock.

John was much too good to him; much too forgiving.

‘God, almighty, you’re so hot!’ the doctor remarked in a hoarse whisper, as he caressed one silken thigh, ‘you go ahead and experiment on me all you like.’

‘It’s strange to hear you say that,’ Sherlock joked, blinking to clear an unexpected watering of his eyes. He swiftly recalculated his angles and scrambled up a bit more. Sherlock found it remarkable that he could feel so happy when not five minutes ago, he thought his world was crumbling.

John’s brow creased worriedly for a moment, ‘Oye! This is not an open invitation for you to creep up on me in the middle of the night and cut…’

‘Oh, no you can’t take it back now,’ the detective snorted with evil laughter, even as he dragged his throbbing prick experimentally along the roughness of John’s pants.

He winced but truly couldn’t bring himself to care. The pressure was hot and full and it was just what he needed, and he braced his arms to obtain even more leverage. He was near choking on the intense pornographic sensation of riding the inside of John’s clothed leg, ‘Holy fuck, yes.’

‘Holy fuck, yes?’ John repeated in amusement. However, Sherlock didn’t bother to respond.  He needed to save his breath to chase down his orgasm.

The things this man did to him.

 


	23. Self control

‘It’s not a problem,’ John whispered into his mobile, ‘text me the details.’

Sherlock woke with a groan.

He had managed to fall into a deep sleep in the early hours of the morning, and didn’t appreciate being interrupted like this. Frustrated, he wiped the stupor from his eyes. Why did anyone bother to whisper? It always seemed to have the opposite effect than the one intended.

The detective sat up abruptly.

Test results!

It hadn’t been at all difficult to convince the good doctor to put a rush on their blood tests the night before, but weren’t these results emailed in this day and age?

Unless…

 _Oh Christ_.

Sherlock threw off the covers and hurried to put an arm around John’s chest as the other man sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Gently he pressed his open palm against the man's pectoral muscle.

_Heart rate perhaps 7% higher than normal but within usual parameters._

The doctor turned his head to briefly share a soft, short kiss with him. Sherlock nodded in relief and buried his face gratefully in the back of his best friend’s neck. John would not be calm if he, Sherlock was ill and neither would the doctor kiss him if he was the one who had received poor news.

‘No, I don’t know where that is but there is a GPS system in the car,’ John concluded, wrapping up his five o’clock in the morning consultation.

Unconsciously, the detective tightened his grip around his favourite flat mate, as if already preparing himself for the inevitable argument when John would declare he had to leave.

The doctor cut the call and scowled at the wall infront of him.

Strange.

Sherlock had expected him to be immediately on his feet, pulling on his clothes. ‘Is it John and Cecil?’

The other man smiled, surprised that the younger man had remembered such a domestic detail from the party. He leaned back to enjoy the warmth of Sherlock’s strong arms. ‘Thankfully no. It was Dr. Peterson’s office. They are short staffed and he just had to deal with back to back patients. They are concerned and want me to if not assist, to at least drive him back home.’

‘Now?’

‘Well, they said it would take me a while to get there. He’s in Newquay.’

‘Where?!’

‘That’s what I said,’ John replied as he proceeded to google the location. Their hearts collectively sank, as they calculated the three hour drive ahead of the good doctor.

‘But our test results are coming in today, aren’t they?’ Sherlock whined petulantly, ‘I had plans.’

_Lovely plans._

_Lovely, lovely plans._

‘Sherlock, is that all you can think about?’ John muttered as he reluctantly rolled to his feet. The young man's eyes narrowed into hostile slits of electric blue at this unexpected criticism.

‘Well sorry!’ he sneered irritably, a sure indication that he wasn’t sorry at all, ‘I am sorry that after waiting patiently for so long, that I wouldn’t want to celebrate good news!’

John grabbed the nearest clean tee shirt and gave him an exasperated look of fondness.

‘And I am ssooo sorry,  that I apparently don’t have your massive self-control,’ he choked out, waving his arms wildly. He was completely put out that the other man wasn’t taking his distress seriously.

_How dare John laugh?! How dare he?!! Argghh!!!_

‘It’s not about self-control, you twat!’ John retorted, trying not to snigger again, ‘Look, try to distract yourself today. When I was coming up here initially, I brought you a gift to read…’

Sherlock pelted a mug across the room, ‘I don’t want any blasted presents!’

The cup smashed against the wall, sending the pieces everywhere.

The young man could feel his skin flush hot and cold as his anger grew. He knew what this was. He knew all about the ‘lows’ in brain chemistry between ‘hits’. After all, it was a toss-up in his early twenties as to whether he was going to be a professional chemist, or a professional addict. So yes, he was in a position to know all about the irritability associated with the lightning storm of chemicals, churning through his body.

Danger, danger, back off, said the little voice in Sherlock’s head.

But it’s not like if he ever listened to that voice anyway.

‘GO THEN!’ Sherlock shouted hatefully, ‘go ahead and leave me like how you did last night!’

Oh no.

After a brief pause, John put his hands on his hips and regarded him with a solemn look, as though he couldn’t believe what the man had said to him.

Sherlock felt himself wilt.

‘Not good?’

John shook his head silently in agreement

_Ok; not good. Apparently._

They were talking last night and reading the sex book together, when Sherlock had hit upon the idea that they should practice some fingering. After some excessive and unnecessary precautions and pre- negotiations in Sherlock’s opinion, the experiment was proceeding rather brilliantly when John had pulled out the two slicked up fingers he was pumping into his ass, and run out the bedroom.

Sherlock had been shocked to say the least, when he realized that the man was not coming back anytime soon.

He had felt thirteen shades of stupid and a bit humiliated at the way he had been momentarily paralyzed in place, listening for the sounds of any returning footsteps. God only knew how long he would have stayed like that if his wet hole hadn’t fluttered in protest, at the uncomfortable chilly air in the room. It had been alright when John was pleasuring him to have his face in the mattress, and his hips up in the air in a decidedly undignified position, but what made it worse was that he had reached around and was holding his cheeks apart, all the better to enjoy the surprisingly pleasing burn as the doctor pistoned his fingers in and out.

In the meantime Sherlock looked on, feeling rather sorry for himself now as the doctor dressed and hurried into their neighbouring bathroom to brush his teeth.

Of course John hadn’t ‘abandoned’ him last night, but the good doctor had felt it best to put some distance between Sherlock’s sexy whimpers and his raging erection.  They had a good chuckle afterwards imagining how John would explain to a policeman, why he was driving around in their rental car, in only his boxers.

John came out the bathroom and grabbed the keys and his wallet off the table, cautiously glancing across at him, perhaps trying to judge if the detective was going to shout some more.

‘I don’t know why I said that, John…’

The doctor put a gentle finger on his lips to silence his apology, kneeling on the floor to say his goodbyes.

‘You’re not alone, Sherlock,’ he murmured, comforting his lover’s sore heart, ‘I am right here with you, and I am not so in control as you think. I am so out of control that I dare not kiss you on the mouth.’

He couldn’t.

He shouldn’t.

Not with Sherlock all warm and naked from sleep, perched in a nest of dark navy sheets; the epitome of masculine virility.

He reached up to cradle the man’s head in both his hands, holding him in place. ‘Be good for me now, ok?’

Sherlock closed his eyes as his friend kissed him carefully on the forehead. That strange warmth bloomed in his chest again, similar to last night as he waited in bed for John to return home. It was still taking him some time to get use to this new situation, but the detective was completely charmed that it was HIS body, not some vapid, bouncy breasted female that was making John react this way.

_Mine, all mine and I will never let another have him again._

John laughed softly to himself, ‘This won’t last forever. Soon, we will have to schedule in date nights between the work like an old married couple, just to remember to have sex.’

Sherlock gave him a saucy eyebrow, ‘oh, I think we can do a bit better than most people.’

John tucked an errant curl behind the man’s ear. There was no way in such close proximity that Sherlock could miss the delicious shiver that went through the ex-captain’s strong frame.

‘That sounds nice,’ he remarked absently, seemingly lost in his thoughts, ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘John, you have a kink that involves immobilizing me in place. We will therefore…’

The man rocked back on his heels, flushing white and then red in turn, ‘I don’t… I don’t know what you are on about!’

Sherlock bestowed on him a look of scornful incredulity, ‘you are not actually going to sit there and tell me my deduction is incorrect.’

John’s jaw clamped shut.

Yes, he did love holding Sherlock in place while they tried out different positions, but it was something he could live without. He was a fool to think the younger man wouldn’t notice.

_Oh god, what is the madman going to suggest now?_

‘I know that I said I am not into bondage of any sort,’ Sherlock began pompously, as though he was beginning a lecture in front of a classroom, 'but I am reconsidering.'

‘What? Why?’

‘Is that important?’

John’s narrowed his eyebrows at him in that stubborn mulish way he got.

‘I think it would be obvious,’ he answered nonchalantly, gesturing one hand gracefully towards the front of the doctor’s pants, ‘the firmer your erections, the better it will be for me in the long run.’

John’s jaw dropped open.

He didn’t know if to kiss or strangle the brilliant man peering down at him.

‘I have it all planned!’ Sherlock  rattled on excitedly, eyes shining bright, ‘We will use two of Henry’s neck ties. They are positively hideous, so we will be doing Knight a favor by nicking them out of the drawer.’

John choked, trying to hold back his bubble of laughter, ‘Bloody hell.’

A look of sudden uncertainty crossed Sherlock’s face.

‘Ok, what was that look?’

‘What look?’ Sherlock chirped innocently.

‘Oye!’

‘I trust you John, I do,’ the other man blurted out, in a sudden rush, ‘but if I change my mind, don’t…’

The doctor cupped one angular cheek softly in his palm, caressing the skin with his thumb as Sherlock stuttered unhappily. It still surprised him how warm his friend’s skin was. ‘All I want is you, the rest is just extra.’

They sat there staring at each for a heart stopping moment. Sherlock was struck mute but the vulnerability in his friend's expression.

This was madness.

Madness.

How could this be normal?

How could this raw exposure of your heart and mind be considered safe? 

Sherlock hoped to God that the doctor knew what he was doing, because this was sure as hell NOT his area of expertise! What he did know was that he enjoyed the kissing and the touching and the orgasms. The doctor seemed pleased in general so the detective supposed they were doing okay with their new relationship. 

John swayed forward unsteadily.

‘I just want you,’ he repeated firmly, breathing out his declaration across Sherlock’s parting lips, moments away from sealing them together for a kiss. 

It would be too hard to have John make love to him now and then leave for the day.

‘I will clean up the broken cup,’ the detective announced sitting back, in an attempt to de-escalate the air between them.

The doctor blinked stupidly at this snub.

He was surprised at this sudden turn around but then nodded in appreciation of the man’s support, given the fact that Sherlock’s sex drive was in apparent overdrive. He needed to leave and with a stifled groan he climbed swiftly to his feet.

Before he walked away though, John took one hand and tenderly kissed the inside of Sherlock’s wrist. ‘Thanks.’

The detective didn’t reply as closed his eyes and turned his head away with a sigh, not wanting to see his friend leave the room, not when he knew it would be hours until the man returned to him.  

Hours, and hours and hours.

He was bored already.

Bored.

Bored.

Bored!

But this was different.

It felt sharper.

Right in the center of his chest.

He massaged his front, ears unconsciously cocked, waiting to hear the sound of the car starting.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't keep John away from this call for help. The doctor would be miserable and fretful all day if he failed in his duty. It was too much a part of who he was. If it was he, Sherlock to be miserable all day, better that he suffer it alone than drag John down with him. Besides, that's what best friends did for each other, didn't they? 

After a few minutes though he realized that the car didn't start, and he opened his eyes before reaching for his mobile.

A text had come through a few moments ago, but he hadn’t heard it as the device had been placed in silent mode.

_Miss you._

Sherlock kicked off the blanket and scrambled to the window and sure enough John was still there, clearly debating with himself all the reasons why he couldn’t just get back into his warm, comfortable bed.

A big grin threatened to split Sherlock’s face wide open. As if guided by some sixth sense, John looked up then and his face contorted in laughing horror.

‘Sherlock, go put on some trousers!’ he yelled up with a snort. ‘Are you insane?! You can’t come to the window like that!’

The detective rolled his eyes, waving companionably as the other man trundled up the darkened country lane.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	24. king of seduction

‘John is right. I am going to get fat,’ Sherlock thought to himself, as he sadly surveyed the empty refrigerator for the third time in less than an hour.

He let the door close under its own inertia.

He would have to head down to the hotel to get some hot food. This fit in nicely with his plans for the day though. It was too blasted quiet here in Henry’s house without his favourite blogger pecking away at his laptop with an oh-so clever look on his face, or in the kitchen making tea or better yet, naked and eager to try a new position with him.

Sherlock smiled absently as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

He never really paused to think about John’s body before this. It was strong and healthy, all that he needed in a work partner for his consulting practice, but now. He closed his eyes, remembering the light glinting of John’s military tags. It was safe to say that he found the metal adornment contrasted beautifully with the doctor’s tanned and firm pectoral muscle.

The detective shook his head to free his mind from spiraling further.

He had the most unsatisfying wank in the shower this morning, and didn’t want the mental distraction now. He was better off saving himself for this evening. He hoped John would not be too tired.  In any case, he already planned on making the most of the rest of the day by sucking him off, if the doctor was too fatigued to engage in anything penetrative.

Arggh!

_Stop thinking about John’s cock._

_Stop thinking of all that thick hot flesh, heavy on your tongue._

_Or perhaps pushing slowy into my ass._

_Oh god, yes!_

Sherlock made a mad grab for the present John mentioned earlier, and sprinted for the door. Who would ever think he would get so interested in sex? He certainly didn’t, not in a thousand years. He would therefore take his incredibly horny transport down to the bed and breakfast, and spend the day studying the H.O.U.N.D experimental papers that John had so thoughtfully brought up for him.

Such a brilliant man.

_I must make sure to tell him so._

Sherlock jerked to a sudden stop to admire the custom built motorcycle parked in the empty driveway. ‘This cherry wood finish is lovely.’

Erik unexpectedly emerged from around the side of the house, a folded foil packet of food in one hand, ‘Thank you, I think it is too.’

The detective glanced across at his new acquaintance.

It was almost like looking into a mirror image. Erik was all lean and long legged and impeccably groomed, clad in a bespoke dark outfit.

‘My house is not on the way to your restaurant?’ he continued when his visitor said nothing further.

‘I am playing hooky this morning,’ the other man smirked, as though incredibly amused by this indirect way of asking him why he was here. ‘They can manage without me for a few hours.’

The birds chirped merrily away in the bushes for a while, before Sherlock realized that the other man was waiting for some sort of a reply in turn.

‘Well, what do you want?!’ the detective barked out, never one to be tactful in the bigger picture.

Erik seemed unconcerned by the chilly welcome, '‘I thought we were having a moment last night.’ 

Oh?

‘I walked my bike up the lane. I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping in. Did I startle you?’

Oh!

Erik was here to see him.

He had brought a gift.

Oh no.

Why did these ridiculous things happen to him?

_Now what?_

Small talk, perhaps?

Sherlock searched his hard drive for examples of small talk, ‘It might storm later.’

He couldn’t help but smile ruefully as Erik’s rich chuckle bounced around in the quiet morning. Sherlock wouldn’t lie, he did find the man appealing on some level. He was smart and he was rude; an almost equal match for him in terms of conversation when he was in one of his darker moods and couldn’t be bothered with social niceties. But by that same token, Erik couldn’t be easily sent away or dismissed like an average person.

‘Here, try this,’ the cook requested as he offered his packet of food with a flourish, ‘You will like it. I have a feeling you are a fussy eater.

‘I’m not much of an eater, to be honest,’ Sherlock muttered as he put down his precious files on the table, before opening the folds of foil. ‘Did you make this?’

Sherlock placed a tentative morsel on his tongue and then started to devour the flaky pastry as though he had never seen food before.

Eventually, Sherlock looked up, as he sensed the other man staring at him, ‘What?’

‘Sorry,’ the other man murmured, ‘as a chef, I really enjoy watching people eat. You could lick the foil if you want. I wouldn’t mind watching your tongue in action so more. I wouldn’t mind that at all.’

Of course Sherlock did no such thing, and he crumbled his foil into a tiny ball, for want of something better to do. He felt his skin flush by the intensity of the other man’s stare.

Erik took a sudden step forward and Sherlock was surprised when he took an involuntary step back, banging his shoulder against the front door by accident.  

‘Open that door, Sherlock,’ his visitor commanded in a hoarse whisper

‘Why would I do that?!’ he retorted in genuine surprise.

‘You’re a tease Holmes. I picked up on that last night.’

‘I am not!’ Sherlock sneered, taken aback by at such a bizarre accusation, ‘and I am on my way out which you can very well see. I don’t know why you are pretending otherwise.’

Erik gave his papers a dismissive glance

‘You can read later. We only have a few hours until Watson comes back. We should make the most of the time.’

Wait.

What?

‘Your doctor is much too trusting.’

‘It was you on the phone this morning,’ Sherlock rapidly summarized in a calm voice as all the pieces came together, ‘Is Dr. Peterson even in Newquay?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘That is a fortunate ouctome for you then, friend,’ he continued almost absently, impressed underneath it all at this bit of imagination to get him alone. ‘Very fortunate.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because, I wouldn’t lift a finger to help you later when John corners you for wasting his time.’

Erik smirked again and Sherlock shook his head in exasperation.

Another idiot who had been taken in by the doctor’s homely appearance and oatmeal coloured jumpers.

Whatever.

That wasn’t his problem.

‘How do you the two of you even kiss?’ Erik inquired teasingly, ‘do you have to stoop?’

‘I require a ride to the village,’ Sherlock replied, in his usual imperious manner. 'Stop waffling in my driveway!'

Something ugly crossed the other man’s face at such a casual dismissal of his question, before it smoothed out again.

The detective decided to ignore it.

 He hadn’t asked Erik to come out here and proposition him, or whatever the hell this was. He might as well get a free lift out of this visit. ‘Do you have two helmets?

‘What do you really see in that fellow?!’ the chef snapped rudely in reply. ‘You’re like a stormy wind in a desert and he’s so….pedestrian. I bet he has all these rules in the bedroom. He looks like a complete bore.’

‘He’s not boring!’ Sherlock said in genuine surprise, bristling at this criticism of his best friend, ‘you’re boring. Did you get this king of seduction routine from a movie?’

Erik rocked back as though he had been pushed.

‘I’m boring?’ he repeated, reaching out for the packet of folders with an incredulously look.  He took out a bit of string to secure it tightly to a compartment under the seat. ‘Look, I am kind of disappointed here. Is that what you wanted? A whole seduction routine? I thought you would be a fun fuck. ’

‘You thought wrong,’ Sherlock muttered under his breath, reaching for the helmet that was being offered. He was a complicated fuck. Thank goodness John was such a patient man. ‘Erik, I think you need to stop talking now. I don’t want to fight with you; not today.’

‘Well just stop fighting!’

He tossed the helmet to one side and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, tearing of the detective’s travelling glove in one smooth motion.

Erik took his palm and started circling it softly with the tips of his finger.

Sherlock stared mesmerized, at the unfamiliar sensation.

‘Stop that,’ he insisted breathlessly after a few moments, pulling back half-heartedly on the appendage.

‘It feels nice, doesn’t it?’

Sherlock shook his head, but inside his body was saying the opposite.

‘We don’t have to go inside, you know.’

Erik was slowly herding him back to the door.

He felt confused.

This was soft. This was no attack.

His defenses were caught off guard.

He couldn’t decide if he felt too cold or too warm, as sudden arousal streaked between them both like tendrils of jumping electricity.

Erik’s face was so close now that he had couldn’t look into both his eyes at the same time.

‘GOD!’ Sherlock shouted, as his head lolled back and banged sharply on the door, when his visitor suddenly cupped him boldly between his legs,

‘How about that?’ Erik asked again with a small grin of victory, ‘does that feel good?’

He couldn’t control his moan of agreement, when the other man began firmly kneading his growing hardness.

‘We don’t have to go inside,’ Erik murmured reassuringly, as he languorously licked the long line of Sherlock’s exposed throat.

 

* * *

 

He tried to ignore it, but John was rather put out that Sherlock hadn’t called all day. After a few hours, he stopped checking his mobile all together.

The chemistry papers behind the neurological HOUND toxin must have captured his favorite chemist’s attention, but he had papers that were even more exciting, rattling in his coat pocket. He had even tied up their excellent test result, with two neck ties he had bought in Newquay, as he waited for Peterson to finish up. (They were not having kinky sex with Henry’s ties, thank you very much!)

Peterson had been a bit alarmed when John had showed up unexpectedly, and had spent some on with his office, trying to figure out who had called the man. In the end it was a lucky turn up, as they shared these last patients and Dr. Peterson could rest in John’s rental.

When John couldn’t get Sherlock on his mobile however, he had called upon their friends at the inn. Luckily, it was no inconvenience as the hoteliers were on their way to the mansion to clean and restock the fridge.

It was a relief though to be driving up to Henry Knight’s estate.

As he pointed the car in the direction of Dartmoor, the weather had turned beautiful again, after some threatening lightening and dark clouds. He wondered if he could coax Sherlock outside into the warm sultry evening for some snogging, or perhaps he would be in the mood for something more exciting. His mind conjured up an amusing mental image of Sherlock jumping his bones, the minute he zoomed through their test results. He found Sherlock’s insistence for skin on skin contact only, to be very sexy; mouth wateringly so.

He couldn’t believe his life these days. Here it was, not later than two in the afternoon, and he was driving homeward on a beautiful Tuesday evening.

It was enough to make him want to hum madly.

Well, why not?

He picked a happy, bouncy tune from the eighties and was off, grinning to himself all the while.

As he finally exited the car and stretched his tired muscles, he extracted his mobile.  He should have checked Sherlock’s position first before he drove out here. There was no guarantee that the man was in the house.

He was so busy texting and walking that he didn’t notice Gary of the B&B, striding down the grassy driveway to meet him.

‘Dr. Watson?’

John broke off in mid hum, and looked up into the big man’s concerned face.

‘Is Sherlock all right? What happened?’

He quickened his pace and Gary turned on one heel to walk alongside him, ‘he’s fine, but there was an incident. He hasn’t been hurt.’

John whipped around the corner and came up short, surprised at the scene before him. Sherlock was sitting on the garden bench, intently staring at Gary’s partner who was whacking away at some weeds as though they personally insulted his existence.

Billy looked up and dropped his gardening tools with a sharp squeak.

‘Everything okay?’ John asked unsurely, unable to even begin to fathom what was going on. He noted though that Sherlock hadn’t looked up as yet and John could admit that this hurt, more than he thought it would. Wasn’t the man happy he was back? He had missed him so very much.

As the silence stretched on Gary conversationally cleared his throat, ‘Just say it Mr. Sherlock; yank it off like a bandage.’

‘Hullo, John,’ the detective said causally looking in his direction, just like he did at Baker street.

‘Hello, Sherlock’, he responded quickly in turn, completely startled by the man’s expressionless face. He was so warm and sweetly loving this morning. What had happened?!

Their eyes connected and held.

_Are you okay?_

_I am fine._

_Lying._

_No. I am not. I never lie, John. I may obfuscate occasionally._

_You omit!_

‘Erik, came to see me,’ the young man continued in the same casual tone, as though they were discussing Mrs. Hudson’s new biscuit recipe.

‘Erik? Erik from the party, Erik?’ John remarked in confusion, ‘What did he want?’

‘Me.’

Billy and Gary’s eyes were round like saucers, as they took in the conversation as though they were spectators at a tennis match. It was like a car crash. You know it was going to be bad, but just you couldn’t look away.

John put his hands on hips fighting for calm, when he realized that his brand new lover had no intention of continuing. He couldn’t believe that Sherlock was going to leave him hanging like this.

‘Did he kiss you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you kiss him back?’

Sherlock’s eyes flickered to Gary’s briefly. The man had warned him it might get ugly before it got any better.

‘Yes, I kissed him back.’

Sherlock thought his heart was going to beat right out of his chest, under the man’s surprisingly precise interrogation. With just a few words, the good doctor was picking apart the barrier he thought he had successfully erected to contain the events of this morning.

‘Sherlock, did you enjoy kissing him back?’

Oh.

What?

He was not going to answer that.

A loud fire alarm started to go through his mind palace, sweeping through room by room; spreading out of control. Was he having a heart attack? It certainly felt that way, as panic crawled up his throat.

‘Answer me,’ John insisted quietly, ‘this is important.’

‘Why?!’ the man spat out, jumping to his feet; refusing to cower in a corner, ‘Why?! Why ask if you already know the answer!’

John dropped his eyes to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough. The detective had seen the hot flash of disappointment and pain in his eyes, and Sherlock wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

There was more to add besides the kissing but that would have to be revealed another day; perhaps never, at this rate. He could bear this burden for the two of them. John never asked to be saddled with a malfunctioning boyfriend.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

‘I am not going to ask if you are upset, because I know you are,’ Sherlock blurted out helplessly, clenching his fists at his sides. ‘Are you going for some air?’

‘I think that is a good idea’, Billy seconded and the hoteliers were relieved when John nodded his head in agreement.

‘Fine! Fine!’ Sherlock snarled angrily, struggling not to shout at the top of his lungs. ‘If you _have_ to go then I insist that you not turn off your phone!’

The doctor looked up a bit confused, and sighed at the look of stark, horrid desperation in his friend’s face. ‘Sherlock, yes, I need some air, but I am coming back. And I never turn off my phone. You are alarming yourself unnecessarily.’

‘I am sensing a pattern here and I don’t like it!’ he tried to explain, ‘why do you do this? Why do you always need some air, whenever we fight?’

_Stop leaving. I hate it when you do this. It hurts._

‘Because, I say mean things when I am upset,’ John insisted quietly, ‘and you know that. I don’t want to expose you to that part of me.’

‘Why?’                           

‘Because I love you, Sherlock.’

‘You love me?!!!’ the detective repeated, his voice squeaking comically in alarm, causing John to smile softly.

‘Yeah, you berk,’ the doctor said affectionately, sighing again in exhaustion as the whole day was starting to take its toll, ‘you _can_ be in love with someone and still be as annoyed as fuck at the same time. Stop worrying, it’s all fine.’

The younger man didn’t know what to say.

‘It’s all fine,’ John mumbled again, to no one in particular.

Sherlock just stood there staring wonderingly at the hunched back of the doctor who loved him, as he stalked away in the opposite direction.

 

 


	25. batman

Living in the city, you never truly appreciated how dark the night really was.

Sherlock threw his head back to look up at the sky.

True, he couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction on Henry’s dark porch, but overhead, hundreds of stars twinkled magnificently in their midnight vault of blue black.

He should be enjoying this splendor, sprawled on one of the comfortable cushy deck chairs, wrapped up tightly in John’s arms, but no. Instead, he was still sitting on an uncomfortable wooden picnic bench, alone, craving a hit so badly that he could barely focus. It was therefore both a surprise and perhaps no surprise at all, to finally discern the soft footsteps interspersed with the familiar sharp tap-tap of an umbrella’s point, coming up the side.

‘Go away,’ Sherlock murmured hoarsely, his voice rusty from the hours of silence.

‘I think not,’ Mycroft insisted tightly, hooking his umbrella along his arm, ‘I will just be back here in less than ten hours, most likely carting your comatose body into an ER.’

Sherlock closed his eyes in misery, ‘No one wants you here.’

His brother ignored this request with practiced ease. He made to sit down on the opposite side of the picnic bench, after carefully dusting the seat with his immaculate handkerchief.

They sat in a silence for a few minutes that surprised even the government agent. At this point, his little brother would be snarling in rage and throwing out insults regarding his weight, all in an attempt to keep Mycroft’s “interfering big nose” out of his business. It was telling indeed of the deep emotion being endured by Sherlock that kept this voice silent.

Mycroft sighed in exasperation.

This was why his brother was always ricocheting in and out of rehab. He never thought of the future. He never stopped to consider the consequences.

The older man could almost hear memory Sherlock yelling, ‘Don’t be boring!’ in his head.

It was this recklessness that made his brother shine of course; incandescent to all who met him, but at what personal cost?

When Dr. John Watson had suddenly tumbled into their lives, it was a godsend to the say the least. With a firm and steady hand, he had kept the self-styled detective out of the hospital and between the two of them, they had discovered a thriving practice. John too had benefited from the arrangement, as his PSTD was being kept under control, and his lifelong commitment to care and violently protect, were being given a vigorous workout.

However, in the space of a sharp sneeze, the two men had decided to throw away their comfortable situation, and for what?

Where exactly was this “relationship experiment” heading?

What was the ultimate conclusion?

His brother was hardly a likely candidate to fulfill the personal needs of one ex-army doctor.

‘Come away with me, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said softly, ‘I will keep you safe. You know I can.’

Sherlock’s piercing blue eyes locked with his in horror, ‘God, no.’

‘No?’

‘John will fix it all,’ the detective insisted with a confident nod of his head.

Mycroft lay a gentle hand along the bare arm of his brother. ‘I think not.’

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in annoyed surprise.

_He will fix it!_

_Oh Sherlock._

‘We both know that ever since John Watson was a child, growing up in a broken home, he has dreamed of a white picket fence house, and a pretty wife with 2.5 children.'

‘Dreams can change!’ Sherlock barked out without even thinking.

‘You are in deep waters, dearest,’ Mycroft insisted, with an increasing sense of dread, ‘This will not end well. Clarity will come to him like lightening on a cool summer day, and then what will you have? You will have nothing.’

Sherlock dropped his eyes to the grassy field, as the full weight of his brother’s insight hit him. He had already come to the same conclusion of course, but he hoped to enjoy many years of John’s companionship, in whatever form, before this happened.

Many, many years.

And then what?

‘It’s like I can’t even leave you alone for five minutes,’ John joked softly, startling the two men as he walked unexpectedly through the front door, coming up behind Sherlock, ‘Hello, Mycroft.’

‘Watson,’ the agent declared coolly, nodding his head. He looked on interestedly as John placed an intimate hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck.

In the meantime, Sherlock sat bolt upright in a sort of stupefied stupor. He hadn’t even heard when John had parked the car and let himself in. He was unprepared!

He needed time to pull it all together.

John had questions, all which had to be answered correctly. The doctor needed assurance that he was wanted and needed, no matter how the situation might appear based on Sherlock’s actions.

‘Where’s your coat?’ the shorter man fretted as he pulled off his black leather, ‘It’s freezing. Take mine.’

Surprised but thrilled, Sherlock quickly inserted his arms into the sleeves, while John sat next to him on the bench, and put an arm across his back. Of course, the jacket couldn’t fit but by turning it around, the coat had successfully covered Sherlock's front, while his exposed back was protected by John’s warm bulk.

Cautiously, he leaned in closer and was astounded when the doctor further strengthened his grasp.

‘Here, I brought you chips,’ John then added, placing the greasy parcel infront him while he lovingly unwrapped a plastic fork, and inserted it into his trembling fingers.

Sherlock stared unseeingly at the food before him, as the clean scent of hot chips hit him full in the face.

‘It’s okay,’ John assured him, giving his curly head a fond pat, ‘Take your time. Just try one. Do it for me, alright?’

As Sherlock obediently speared the first fat fry, he resisted the urge to start bawling into his dinner like a big baby. He hadn’t expected such gentleness. He hadn’t known what to expect, full stop. Relationships, were not his area, for crying out loud!

‘Mycroft, I see you there,’ John added without taking his eyes off the unusually blank expression on Sherlock’s pale face, ‘let me take care of your brother for a few minutes.’

Without waiting for a reply, the man lowered his voice and placed his lip close to his flat mate’s ear. ‘I’m very sorry to have been away so long. I swear, I just closed my eyes for two seconds, and I fell asleep in the car. Say you forgive me, please.’

‘Of course,’ Sherlock croaked out, confused that the situations had reversed in such an expected manner. He had been quite prepared to grovel for forgiveness on his knees, if it came to that. This conversation wasn’t quite going the way he was expecting.The doctor’s warm lips were so close, it was befuddling his mind completely. If only he dared turned his head, he could pretend it was an accident. His fingers tightening on his fork, as he clawed for mental clarity.

John, in the meantime, didn’t even seem to be the least bit unsure when he softly kissed him behind his ear.

Sherlock mechanically continued eating, hoping for more kisses.

‘I ran the speed limit getting here,’ John continued to explain in the same intimate tone of voice, ‘but all my worry was for naught. You are sober.You haven’t even had a cigarette! I am so proud of you. ‘

This time the detective couldn’t stop the one tear from rolling down his cheek and he wiped it away surreptitiously. He had tried so hard to be good, knowing his sobriety was one thing guaranteed to make John happy. Swallowing hard to keep his emotions in check, he burrowed into the body around him. Something within his chest leaped happily, when, as if reading his mind, John kissed him again, this time on his cheek. The hand that was holding Sherlock’s side also began to stroke slowly.

This was lovely.

After a harrowing evening alone with his churning thoughts, John was making him feel so lovely.

He was reluctant to leave this state of abject bliss, but this wasn’t a one way street. John needed him too.

‘What happened? What did you do to your hand?’

The doctor clenched his bruised fingers into a tight fist, where they rested on the top of the table.

‘Why are you asking me that?’ he quipped sourly, ‘haven’t the two of you already deduced it to death as yet?’

The two brothers exchanged a look and Mycroft nodded, agreeing that Sherlock continue to take the lead.

‘I would rather hear it in your own words, if you please,’ the detective pushed tentatively, ‘rather than some mangled version, circulated throughout the village.’

John grimaced, as a multitude of emotions warred for top billing; rage yes, embarrassment that he had let his emotions get the better of him, and worry that another ASBO was lurking in the future. ‘I’ve been a bit of an idiot Sherl, and I want to tell you about it.’

The government agent noted how almost reflexively his brother’s arm encircled the man’s waist. He began reshuffling some of his previous thoughts in his head, regarding the “relationship experiment.”

‘You went to see Erik,’ Sherlock prodded encouragingly, when John stumbled for a suitable place to start.

Mycroft cleared his throat and his brother obligingly spat out his answer in Russian.

The doctor waited patiently, grateful for this temporary reprieve. It wasn’t the first time that the brothers had slipped into another language in his presence. He leaned into his lover’s side, reveling in the man’s welcoming heat. Sherlock radiated like a furnace.

‘ **I’m glad you think Erik is a nobody** ,’ John answered in the same language, stunning the two men into silence.

‘You speak Russian, Dr. Watson?’ Mycroft asked rhetorically, already updating this information with his mobile.

‘Good Gad!’ Sherlock gawked, flabbergasted at this unseen observation, ‘I didn’t know! Why didn’t I know? It’s always something!’

John smiled and his face hurt a bit, making him realize that he hadn’t smiled in a while.

 **‘Why wouldn’t I speak, Russian?’** he replied, delighting in shocking his flat mate. It wasn’t like that happened every day. ‘ **Do you even know where Afghanistan is? I hope this is not one of those things you’ve deleted.’**

Sherlock smiled in enchantment at this bit of teasing. The hidden complexity of his best friend was a never ending source of satisfaction.

In the background, his older brother pretended to vomit.

‘Oh shut it, Mycroft!’ the detective snapped viciously, not breaking eye contact with his flat mate. He felt as though he was floating when John scooped him up, and tucked him possessively unto his lap. 

‘You were saying, Sherlock,’ the government agent pleaded impatiently, as his little brother took his time to get comfortable and to drape his arms around John’s neck.

The young man finished his story, this time in English. He had expected Mycroft to make some witty, stinging remark about Erik making a pass at him. The detective was taken aback that his brother had turned bone white. He glanced down automatically at John, and in contrast, the man was flushed a deep ugly red, even to the tips of his ears.

‘It’s not exactly true that I went down to talk to Erik,’ John finally spoke up.

Sherlock frowned, now confused.

‘It went more along the lines of “I will gut you like a fish, and kick you into a ditch to die,' to be honest,’ John explained. 

The two friends were so wrapped up in each other that they missed Mycroft’s approving nod.

‘Perhaps that was a bit much,’ Sherlock commented in a serious tone.

‘What? Why?’ the doctor growled in disbelief.

‘Erik is a cook and a civilian. I rather doubt he can fully comprehend what you were saying.’

‘Oh right,’ John said absently, before his face creased in annoyance, ‘Oh crisps, he probably thought I was kidding.’

Finally, the detective decided to throw in the towel as he looked across at his brother, unsure as to how to deal with Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers; three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital!

‘I take it you then exchanged some colorful words,’ Mycroft smoothly took up the role of moving the narrative forward.

John turned his head and looked off at some point in the night.

‘What is it?’ What did he say to you?’  Sherlock called across softly, feeling the growing tension in the arms that held him close. John for the most part was a gentle man with truckloads of patience. He may shoot a murderer now and then, but he didn’t go around threatening to eviscerate persons he was annoyed with.

He unconsciously started to massage the back of the doctor’s neck, trying to calm him.

‘Well, I would be vastly interested in what this Erik person said,’ Mycroft insisted, wanting all details of potential threats against his family, ‘the exact words if you please.’

'No,' John growled at him, ‘I am not repeating that filth. Not infront Sherlock.’

‘What?! I am not a child,’ Sherlock protested in annoyance, ‘don’t speak to me like that.’

The doctor pulled the body in his arms so that their foreheads were touching. ‘I know you are not a child. You are important to me, and I don’t allow filth around what is important.’

‘John? That is not an answer. Summarise if you must.’

The older man sighed in resignation. ‘Let’s say that he was explaining all the things I was doing wrong with you.’

‘And that made you hit him?’ Sherlock inquired incredulously, while John strove to squash the memory that again threatened to rise up and choke him. 

 

> _‘He’s so bloody gorgeous and inexperienced,’ Erik sneered down at him, ‘His sex drive confuses him.  You could get him to practically agree to do anything for a kind word or two. Do you know what you can do with that combination?! God, with the minimum prep, he would be so clean and tight for your cock._ ’
> 
> _A frightful image of Erik brutally fucking the detective into the mattress while Sherlock sobbed quietly, believing it was his fault that he was in pain, rolled across John’s mind like a red haze. It took him a few moments afterwards to realize that it was Erik’s body that was sliding down the opposite wall like a large bag of wet sand._

‘I put back his shoulder,’ John bit out defensively, his voice shaking with the intensity of his previous emotions. ‘And I would have fixed his nose too, if he stopped running around like a blubbering idiot.’

Mycroft bestowed a look of fondness on the good doctor, while his brother buried his face in John's shoulder to stifle his laughter.

Never had Sherlock such a friend as the man who he was currently using as an armchair. In the last war, commissioned officers often had a batman; a soldier or airman assigned as a personal servant. In his mind’s eye, he could almost see the image of them in uniform, with the doctor protectively cradling Sherlock in his arms, shielding him from all dangers.


	26. Exclusively

Mycroft absently tapped his umbrella on the ground, breaking him out of the fanciful mood that had taken over his thoughts. Clearly the amount of sentiment in the air was making him light headed.

Back to the business at hand.

‘Dr. Watson, on the slim chance that our new acquaintance didn’t quite understand your meaning, I do believe I will drop by and say a few words.’

John’s grateful response of ‘Thank you, yes please,’ crashed resoundingly into Sherlock’s yelp of ‘absolutely not!’

‘What are you doing?’ the detective hissed angrily into his best mate’s face. They didn’t take assistance from that man! It was a rule!

The corner of John’s mouth eventually turned up into a sad sort of smile in response.

‘I know you are attracted to Erik, Sherlock…’

John placed a quieting finger on his lover’s lips as he of course made to interrupt.

‘…and that’s fine. Nothing is wrong with liking two people at the same time, but I have spoken to Erik and I don’t know how you could miss this, but he’s an oily git of gigantic proportions. I don’t think he will be a good friend to you. Let your brother suss him out him. If there’s any one who can find hidden layers, he can. Then you will have another opinion, as well as my admittedly biased one to help you.’

‘Help me with what?!’ Sherlock said so harshly, that the doctor took a metaphorical step back. ‘What do you think is going to happen here? Are you saying, it wouldn’t bother you if I jumped off your lap right now, and walked off to meet him for yoga?’

‘That is not what I am saying,’ John murmured quietly, gently caressing his lower back trying to calm him. ‘But that is not my choice to make, it’s yours. Remember we talked about this. I do not dictate to you, who you can and cannot talk with, just because we have changed the parameters of our friendship a bit.’

A muscle worked in Sherlock’s jaw, and his grip on the back of the doctor’s neck was growing painful.

‘I would have you know,’ the world’s only consulting detective menaced in silken tones, taking his time to annunciate every word, ‘if our positions were reversed, John Watson, I wouldn’t let you have a choice.’

The doctor tried not to smile at the jealous growl that rumbled low in the other man’s chest, even as his insides gave a pleasurable squirm.

He never thought he could come to mean anything personally, to such a great man. Yes, John knew he was integral to the work, but could this mean that Sherlock was starting to feel a growing tenderness for him, outside of that role? A great feeling of hope was burning him alive as he stared up into the man’s beautiful albeit angry eyes.

‘And just so you know,’ Sherlock turned his head as he bawled out to his brother in direct contrast to their whispered conversation, ‘it will be a cold day in hell, Mycroft, before I accept your advice on a personal matter over John’s. However, you have my blessing to go make yourself useful as a proper big brother. Find out if Erik intends to press charges against John, and then do something about it!’

The doctor felt a massive wave of relief wash over him that Sherlock had given in.

True, he agreed that Mycroft’s assistance never seemed to come without a price, but such a show of consolidated force, would ensure Erik would not think that Sherlock was a man unprotected. No one should think they could interfere with Sherlock’s heart or body, and then expect to walk away with all their limbs in good working order.

But speaking of proper big brother.

_Sigh._

John angled his grip on Sherlock’s waist, so that the two of them were more of less facing the shadowy government official, ‘Well Mycroft, if you have something to say about us now is the time. We are not doing this kidnapping me in the middle of the day shit, I swear to God.’

The doctor exhaled impatiently as the other man suddenly turned his laser like focus on him. ‘Don’t sit there staring, just say it and be done. Say you don’t think I am good enough to be involved with your brother, because I intend to prove you wrong. That’s why you are here, isn’t it?!’

Mycroft raised a surprised eyebrow at this unexpected outburst, ‘Calm yourself, Dr. Watson.’

Sherlock, in the meantime, snorted with astonished laughter before dropping a fond, but exasperated kiss on the top of John’s blond head, ‘Silly man.’

John really did look like a grumpy hedgehog when he was annoyed.

‘I am not entirely sold on this idea of a romantic relationship,’ Mycroft explained in his usual careful tones, ‘but you specifically, I approve off. I think there are very few that would not approve. We are very fortunate to have you.’

Sherlock nodded his head in agreement and naturally that took the wind out of John’s sails, and left him with little to say.

‘Mycroft thinks you are going to eventually leave me for a blonde woman and her house, with 2. 5 children,’ Sherlock decided to elucidate.

The doctor of course scowled with understandable confusion, ‘Sorry, what? What was that?’

‘But that’s not going to happen, is it?’ Sherlock demanded, with a stern look.

Suddenly the entire picnic table rattled as John’s left knee jumped up, and sharply hit the underside of the surface.

‘Sherlock, if you are doing something to Dr. Watson under that table,’ Mycroft yelled, ‘please for the love of God, desist!’

The detective gave him a saucy look before showing him the back of his curly head.

In the interim, the doctor pinned Sherlock’s hand against the top of the table, where it would not be able do any further mischief. He took a moment after to get his bearings, before giving his love a tight squeeze of affection, ‘I got you another present. It’s in my coat pocket.’

Eyes shining with delight, the young man began to frantically paw at the sides looking for the openings, hoping it was something sweet.

‘Why don’t you go have a bath and open it up in your room?’

The detective froze like the proverbial deer in highlights, startled by the rather obvious manner in which the doctor was trying to send him away. Sherlock’s eyes flicked briefly to his brother’s ice blue gaze, ‘I would rather stay.’

‘It will be fine,’ John assured him, ‘you know there is no way to avoid his “pep” talk. If he becomes too ridiculous, I will call up to you for rescue.’

Sherlock loomed over the doctor and stared deep into his amused, dark blue eyes. He didn’t know his brother the way he did; this was dangerous, Mycroft was dangerous, but oh how his John loved danger. ‘Remember if he offers you money, take it this time!’

John winked as they exchanged one last soft hug, ‘my thoughts exactly.’

Sherlock rose and after bestowing the look of death on his sibling, he snatched up his chips and marched away. 

The two older men sat in companionable silence, as they listened to the detective moving around the house.  Sherlock poked out his head of the window and scowled horribly down at them for a long moment, before he left to take a shower.

‘Although I didn’t expect it,’ Mycroft began with a delicate shudder, now that they were alone,  ‘I still thank you all the same for _not_ declaring how passionately in love the two of you are, and how you will never ever, ever, ever leave my brother.’

John regarding him with a stony look, not appreciating his mocking, cynical tone. ‘Stop that, I have enough on my plate. Why are you here?’

Mycroft bestowed a thin smile on the man opposite, wondering if the doctor felt the same sense of deja- vous, as they stared each other down. They had come a long way from their first meeting in the warehouse.

‘You know my brother is a man of extremes,’ the shadowy agent continued while examining his fingernails, ‘all I require is as much notice as you can possibly give me as to when you will end this relationship experiment, so I may put appropriate measures in place.’

‘Christ,’ John muttered with a groan, after gawking at him for a moment in silence, ‘you know sometimes I can’t believe the words coming out your mouth.’

‘And I don’t think you understand the crippling dependency my brother has developed for you,’ Mycroft sneered back. Sherlock had simply traded one addiction for another in his opinion, although the side effects of the doctor’s companionship produced favourable personality and bodily changes.

John held up a hand to interrupt. ‘And you don’t think your brother has become necessary to me too? Sherlock fills gaps in my life that I didn’t even know existed.’

Mycroft stared into the face of the man sitting opposite, analyzing his features. It was clear that the good doctor didn’t understand what he was trying to explain. After all these months, Watson still believed that Sherlock was more or less indifferent to his presence, but he wasn’t, his brother was just extremely good at hiding it.  Caring was not an advantage, he tried to teach his brother a hundred times, but the lesson didn’t stick, and now here they were. Mycroft strongly suspected that if the doctor was to abruptly remove himself from Sherlock’s sphere of existence, “brother mine” would be so destroyed that they would have to strap him to a stretcher, and feed him with a tube.

‘I see you remain unconvinced.’ John retorted wearily, pleased though that the man hadn’t tried to buy him off or dissuade him more forcefully. Coming from Mycroft, this was probably as supportive as he was going to get.

Mycroft shook his head as he made to stand, ‘as much warning as you can possibly give, Dr. Watson. Please.’

‘Sherlock and I are in a good place,’ John called out desperately to the man’s retreating back, ‘you could _try_ to be happy for us.’

Predictably, Mycroft chose that moment to merge into the shadows _._

_Jesus! What a drama queen?!_

John sighed deeply as he eventually moved forward to close the house and switch off the lights. He was still happy though to be climbing the stairs to be with his favourite person in the whole world.  Yes, they still had to talk about Erik some more, but it was hard to take Mycroft’s dire outlook seriously when his love was waiting for him, and had been doing so for close to five hours, with no apparent desire to do anything else but sit in his lap. Sherlock hadn’t dashed off looking for a crime; he hadn’t started a distracting/ disgusting experiment, no, he had stayed, and waited with a patience that for those who knew him best, was the highest compliment it was in the detective’s power to make.

John tripped to a sudden stop in the doorway.

He stood there, trying to parse together why one, Sherlock was stunningly naked except for the newly purchased ties already secured around each wrist and why two, the young man was currently rifling through his wallet.

Sherlock suddenly seemed to realize that he wasn’t alone.

‘You have a photo of me in your wallet,’ he said almost accusingly with a fierce scowl of confusion, ‘Explain.’

John walked up to him and attempted to take the item.

Stubbornly, Sherlock held it high out of reach, eyes boring it his as he tended to do when he was about to deduce. ‘I didn’t pose for this photograph. You took it in secret. You also printed it on our home printer, strongly suggesting you didn’t want to go down to the shops and be seen. The edges are jagged, cut quickly with a scissors as though you were in a hurry, or perhaps afraid of being caught. This must have been in your denial phase.’

John pulled on one of the convenient neck ties to jerk his property within grabbing reach. He gathered the wallet from his flat mate, and turned it around to look at the photo. Sherlock was smiling, an absolutely soft, breathtaking smile; a real smile; not those plastic ones he gave when trying to manipulate someone.

The doctor had been staring at his beautiful flat mate all that morning, and a strange notion had come over him to try for a photo. Of course he had been terrified of being found out, so, posing the phone to take a series of shots, he had thrown across a quick compliment praising his friend for the astounding completion of one of his cases. Out of sight he hurried to his room and into a cupboard, and he damned near cried when out of the seven or so shots, one had come out, clear and sharp as crystal.

[Click here for photo](https://app.box.com/s/0lf8lkbmpcxxuet6p9uiz2czgj5b29ip)

‘I never had a denial phase,’ the doctor insisted tenderly as he tossed the wallet on a side table. He took each wrist in hand and massaged gently, trying to ease Sherlock’s defensive posture, ‘this was my, he’s never-going-to-want-some-old, scarred-washed-out-veteran-he-could-do-so-much-better, phase.’

Sherlock look at him as though it pained him that John had such thoughts.

‘It is true …’ the detective began hesitantly, continuing more strongly when John nodded, ‘I never was physically attracted to you at the first, but I have always wanted you. I have always wanted your caring, your company, your admiration, and your superior tea making abilities!’

John’s face crinkled in amusement, as the other grinned cheekily down at him. ‘Thanks, Sherlock.’

‘Can we have some sex?’ the young man added hopefully with a bright, eager look.

The doctor took a reluctant step back, pausing to admire all of Sherlock’s delectable bits on show.

The young man’s face fell, and his normally tall, proud posture dipped in disappointment.

‘Let me have a shower first, alright?’ John replied, already walking to the bathroom ‘I want to talk to you.’

Sherlock lowered himself sadly into an armchair to wait, the lovely feelings from earlier draining out his body like water going down a sink. John hadn’t even kissed him. They were alone and not even a kiss on the cheek or anything. Feeling supremely sorry for himself, he studied the beautiful hard wood floors under his bare feet.

His heart started to stampede madly though, when John’s water shot off.

All of a sudden, he felt as though he was about to face an executioner. John had said he would fight for their relationship. He had promised, he had promised! Was Mycroft able to get to him, after all?!

The doctor calmly came out in Sherlock’s bath robe, but paused in astonishment at the angry expression on the other man’s face. ‘Alright there?’

‘I’m fine!’ he spat out nastily, not realizing that his two fists were clenched as they lay on his naked thighs.

John sat on the bed and they stared at each other.

_Well, just get it over with! Don’t be maudlin._

‘You are a little far away over there, don’t you think?’ John said in a puzzled voice, patting the space next to him, ‘why don’t you…’

Sherlock was on his feet, and scrambling over before the words were even out John’s mouth.  When the good doctor gently pulled him on his lap and tipped them over on their sides, Sherlock starting thanking which ever Gods were out there for such a reprieve.

‘John?’

‘Shhh…’ the doctor crooned as he softly pulled Sherlock’s top leg across his waist, in a decidedly intimate cuddle, ‘you smell delicious, like vanilla.’ Tentatively Sherlock leaned closely and felt like singing arias, as John lips parted under his effortlessly. Happily he pushed inside, thrilled to be once again able to touch and explore the moist cavern, melting into his friend’s warm embrace. He moaned as arousal ran through his body, lighting up every last nerve while he leisurely licked the roof of John’s mouth.

He happily pushed John on his back. John unexpectedly rolled him back on his side, determinedly breaking their kiss. Desperate, Sherlock reached down to fondle his neglected cock, ‘John, please. Touch me here. Please, just for a few seconds, I won’t ask for anything more.’

The doctor reached down and took his hand away, lacing it tightly with his own. ‘Sherlock, you are pinging all over the place. You are still upset by today, and trying to drive it away with an orgasm. The bad feeling will still be there after, trust me, I’ve made that mistake many, many times. Let’s talk for a little bit.’

Sherlock shook his head trying to break free of the other man’s grip.

He didn’t want to talk.

He wanted to feel good again.

He wanted John to make him feel good.

He wanted to soar and have his mind go blank, with the kind of excruciating pleasure that only the good doctor could so skillfully wring out his body.

The detective was only brought back to the moment however, by John dropping feather kisses on every part of his body that he could reach, while begging him to talk in a way that almost broke Sherlock’s heart in two.

Eventually he stopped struggling and was rewarded with a soft peck on his nose.

‘Sex addict,’ John groused with a wink.

‘Is that what you want to talk about?’ Sherlock shot off testily, trying to conceal his worry.

‘No…’

He simmered down with a petulant sigh.

‘I want to know what went on when Erik was here,’ the doctor then added in such a mundane tone that Sherlock wasn’t sure he had heard correctly at first.

He drew back in horrified confusion, ‘What good will this do? It was a lapse in my mental process and that is all!’

‘But at least I will know,’ John rebutted in a solemn voice, ‘At least I will know, instead of imagining all sorts of scenarios that make me want to vomit.’

Sherlock looked aghast.

‘John, nothing…’

The detective thumbed the side of the doctor’s face comfortingly, ‘I am still yours. I am still yours. ‘

‘Are you?’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?!’ Sherlock shouted, the free arm flapping widely, ‘Erik doesn’t know me, he just wants my…my body. He doesn’t care about anything else. You want everything about me; the good bits, and the hard to love bits. ‘

John didn’t speak, but just concentrated on breathing deeply in and out.

‘Yes, it may appear to you that I have a lot of admirers but trust me, no one is lining up around the block to be with me, fuck o’clock  in the morning when I am dredging up clues from the Thames! The last time I looked, there was just one person in that line,’ Sherlock insisted, lovingly returning the soft kiss to the tip of John’s nose.

The older man gave him a watery smile but then gathered his new lover almost desperately towards him, crushing their bodies together. ‘Sherlock, I know we have only been at this for a few days, but we have been friends for like 15 months and…and…’

‘…and?’

‘…and I want you to be my boyfriend, exclusively.’

‘WHAT?!’

‘Exclusively,’ John repeated licking his lips nervously, ‘that means…’

‘I know what it means,’ Sherlock barked out crossly, ‘have you even been listening to me?! That is what I just said when I explained that bit about the Thames!’

John’s expression slowly cleared in understanding, and they stared at each other with identical stupid grins; basking in the sheer magnitude of the moment.

_Are you sure, Sherl?_

_I don’t know much about relationships, but I want to try. I want to try with you._

Sherlock reached down for a happy kiss, pausing only when the other man gripped his biceps tightly, holding him back.

_Oh right. Erik. I forgot._

‘We didn’t come inside, John. Erik had me up on the door,’ Sherlock shared, deciding to take advantage of his best friend’s happy mood. There really might never be a better time to have this discussion. He minutely checked his flat mate’s expression just in case.

The doctor nodded reassuringly.

‘That’s it, you don’t have be concerned,’ John insisted, ‘I am fine now…more than fine.’

‘He unzipped my pants and rubbed me with his hand. I was so keyed up, I came almost immediately.’

‘You’re doing great. What next?’

‘We kissed for a bit, and then he asked me to suck him.’

The doctor went rigid as a board to which Sherlock scoffed, ‘really, John? You think I want some stranger sticking their cock down my throat?! Have you met me?!’

John shuddered in agony and closed his eyes, while Sherlock hurried to wrap his arms comfortingly around him.  

‘Anything else, Sherl?’

He was unsure if to tell the next part. He was having a time trying to get rid of Erik at that point, and it was perhaps a good thing that their hotelier friends had showed up when they did.

Erik was a lot stronger than he looked.

Gary had taken one look at Sherlock being forced to his knees, and with a bellow of outrage had rushed the other man. The chef had scampered off with admirable speed in the opposite direction. Sherlock hoped Mycroft would shut it. He didn’t want John going off the deep end with this sort of information.  

John had said reciprocation was always nice but not necessary. Erik clearly didn’t agree with this way of thinking at all, and had been very vocal about it.

Was he a selfish brat? Was it is his fault that Erik had been so angry? It was true that he had wanted to get off almost desperately at the time, but he didn’t want Erik in return, not like that. He buried his face in John’s neck. He was a man now and not a boy, but he was so very glad not to be alone tonight after such an upsetting day.

He tucked the memory in his hard drive in the bad sex folder.

‘Erik left when Gary and Billy came up,’ Sherlock decided to summarize instead, ‘John, are you upset?’

‘Actually, I am relieved,’ the other man insisted, taking Sherlock’s curly head in both his hands to kiss his forehead, ‘thank you for doing this for me. Thank you.’

The detective, pleased with the outcome of their talk, rested his forehead gently against that of his partner. John had been right. Getting it all in the open was a good idea, and he felt as though the bonds of what made their friendship so special, strengthen even further. A delighted shiver then went down his spine, as John’s fingers lightly trailed down his bare back and over the swell of his buttocks.

‘I am attracted to Erik on some level, but I am attracted to you more,’ Sherlock jumped in quickly, wanting to say a few more words before his brain went completely off line, ‘why don’t you know that already?’

He could feel John smiling even if he couldn’t see it.

‘And I also want to apologize for all the times that I asked you to suck my cock, and I…well…’

John looked up as he hesitated, ‘for all the times I pleaded and pleaded, and I hadn’t even washed myself! This thing with Erik just made me realize how off putting the act could be.’

The doctor smiled again, touched by Sherlock’s concern, ‘so, did you wash yourself in the shower?’

‘Yes.’

‘You washed yourself for me?’

Sherlock could feel the heat coming off his face as he nodded.

‘Which parts?’

‘You know which parts?!’ Sherlock yelped in embarrassment, as he wriggled around uncomfortably.

John lightly circled his left nipple with his fingertips, sending a jolt of lust straight to his groin.

_Oh fuck!_

‘I want to hear you say it,’ the doctor growled fiercely, ‘out loud. Say it!’

‘I washed my balls and penis,’ he gasped, sure that his face was tomato red. His usual bravado seemed to have deserted him, cowered by such an aggressive turn from the normally gentle doctor.

John reached out to gently play and caress the organs in question, ‘Very good. Anywhere else?’

Sherlock looked down and parted his legs quickly, panting with enjoyment as John’s hands roamed so masterfully over his most private areas.

‘What was your question?’ he stammered out in a breathless murmur as he gripped John’s strong shoulders.

‘Anywhere else?’ John repeated with a small smirk.

‘And inside my anus?’

Sherlock closed his eyes and rolled his head back as John didn’t disappoint. The man gently pulled his butt cheek and with his other hand, he teased the sensitive ring of muscle hidden within.

‘But this blonde woman that Mycroft mentioned…’

‘For God’s sake, Watson!’ Sherlock shouted as his eyes popped open, ‘are you cock blocking yourself? Who does that?!’

John roared with laughter at his love’s furious scowl, which eventually set Sherlock off too. This way and that, the two men chased each other across the bed, barely able to breathe as they laughed and wrestled for dominance. Sherlock really didn’t want to win and all too soon, John had him pinned on his stomach. The detective took big gulps of air, trying to stop laughing as John held his hands behind his back. He couldn’t remember when last he had laughed so hard and for so long.

‘Do you think I am going to leave you one day for a white picket fence dream?’ John asked gravely, softly kissing and licking the back of his neck.

‘I know you will,’ Sherlock shrugged, replying around a giddy hiccup, ‘You’ve wanted it for a long time.’

‘All I ever wanted is someone to come home to everyday,’ John disagreed, as he struggled to find the right words, ‘I want someone who if I had a fight with, would sit stubbornly in the dark with a pout on their face, and wait for me to come back.’

Sherlock gave a small doubtful sigh, appreciating though the strong sentiment behind the words. Maybe someday, he might be able to say I love you back, to this incredible human being he so fortunately had in his life.

‘Thank you for saying that,’ he murmured, ‘you make me feel wonderful.’

‘You _are_ wonderful!’ the doctor insisted, nuzzling at the dense curls at the nape of the man’s neck.  

‘John?’

‘Hmm…’

‘Sex now?’

Sherlock grinned as his partner shook with silent laughter against his back.

‘What do you want, love?’ the doctor asked, nibbling absently at the bumps of his spine, ‘Did you see something in the book you want to try?

‘How about we start at position #1 and work through the book?’ the detective replied in such a serious way that John couldn’t help but snort with laughter. It was such a typically Sherlock thing to say. Without further ado, he flipped his bed mate on to his back for the missionary position, grinning evilly when his love squeaked in wonder at his strength.  

‘You asked for it,’ John growled in a voice of pretend menace, as he pulled on the dangling neckties, securely fastening Sherlock’s wrists to the bed posts on either side.


End file.
